


Fool Me Once (Fool Me Twice)

by Purplesauris



Series: Fool Me Once [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending to Season Two, Angst, Cultural Differences, Descriptions of Blood, Force Ghost Anakin, Force Ghost Shenanigans (Star Wars), Frottage, I am begging you, I know two things about the force and im making up the rest, Let luke be emotional 2k21, Luke is KIND OF a vegetarian, Luke is disabled, Luke is going to get hurt a lot guys, Luke is still a Jedi, Luke... be selfish, M/M, Mand'alor Din, Mention of scars, Minor Original Character(s), Nerve Damage, Prince Luke Skywalker, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Well we know her a little, Yiana is an OC and no one can pry her from my hands, alternate au, canon? we don't know her, handjobs, he is... very confrontational and does NOT know how to handle it, hidden identities, i know i said angst before but uh, i love that that's a tag, it's here fam, like... not really but also yes, like.... SLOW burn, luke is an insomniac, miscommunications, no beta we die, post chapter 16 content, yes he's here and he's staying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 70,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29072433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purplesauris/pseuds/Purplesauris
Summary: With the King of Mandalore rising to power and the Empire in shambles, the New Republic reaches out to build a relationship- using Luke Skywalker as their proxy.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Series: Fool Me Once [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197209
Comments: 347
Kudos: 881





	1. The Calling

**Author's Note:**

> This is.... such a labor of love. I have never read more on a wiki than I have for Luke, to really dive into the spirit and character of him, and I hope you all enjoy the ride! I'm going to be updating at LEAST every tuesday, sometimes more depending on how quickly I write. As always, my ever steady rock and inspiration for this is FrostedBasilisk over on tumblr, please go check out their wonderful mandalorian artwork!

Yavin was muggy. The thought had stuck with Luke ever since he'd set foot on the planet again, this time to search the ruins of what was left of the Great Temple. It had been used as a base of operations during the Rebellion and decimated soon after, and despite Luke's attempts to get information while he was a pilot, he'd come up short. 

Like he was now. 

He had hoped that he could remember his way, but Artoo couldn't fight through the brush and so he had gone it alone, tramping through the underbrush and ducking under branches. the temple, despite being nothing more than a pile of rubble for the most part still called to him, and Luke followed the faint ache and tug in his chest that only grew worse the closer he got. His robes stuck uncomfortably to his lower back, damp with sweat, and he cursed himself for not wearing something lighter. He’s still begrudging his poor foresight when he breaks through the purple treeline, stopping short at the sight of the carnage in front of him. Stones are strewn about, ten times his height and just as wide, jagged and scorched by whatever explosive wreaked havoc on the structure. 

He feels the agony of the people who died here, the resounding sadness and confusion that clings to the stones as he carefully picks his way through the ruins in the hope of finding something left. A book, a scroll, even a holo recording or merely a painting would suffice. Anything that he could use, could draw inspiration from for his own idea of what his Jedi Order might be like. Luke shivers in the afternoon heat when something in the force cries out for him, drawing his attention to a hole in the ground that when he walks up, peering inside, shows the lower levels of the temple. Luke knew it ran deep into the ground, but he was hesitant to drop down into an unstable hole with no way out other than the hole which would surely collapse on him if he so much as sneezed wrong. 

"Well, can't go too wrong, can it?" His voice echoes far louder than he means, but nothing stirs around him, not even the predators that had trailed him since he'd landed the x-wing. 

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before slowly picking his way down, slipping down the collapsed floor that made a somewhat decent ramp. If he didn't know better he'd have thought someone made it themselves. Which, upon a second glance, someone _definitely_ did. He draws his lightsaber, using the green blade as an uneasy light source as he pads through the room, careful of each step but curious nonetheless. There isn't much- these look like what were once living quarters; all of the valuables were on the higher levels, including the library, but Luke can hope and the force hasn't steered him wrong yet. 

Luke takes his time searching the room, avoiding the dank stairway descending further into the ground in favor of shuffling smaller bits of rubble around. Searching this temple, after all it's been through is a long shot, one that he knows won't pay off, but seeing the rows and rows of beds, picking up an old tattered blanket and sweeping a finger over the stitching on the edge makes him feel closer to a heritage he was only given a crash course in. He keeps the blanket with him, as old and moth eaten as the one edge is, and Luke is nearly finished with his slow search of the great room when he spots a stack of books bound together and tucked neatly under a rotted bed frame. 

He thinks he’s hallucinating for a minute, but when he crouches down, reaching out to slide them closer the leather bound books are as real as anything else. The leather strap binding them together disintegrates when Luke slips a finger underneath them, so he opts to use the blanket, wrapping them up tightly to keep the moisture from ruining the already delicate books. Luke presses the books close to his chest, scaling the ramp that led him down into the room and breaking out into the hazy light of mid afternoon. Now that he’s gotten the books the temple is silent, only the whispers of what happened singing to Luke as he makes his way back to the ship. 

He wonders if leaving the temple behind to fade into obscurity is cruel. 

Much like the Jedi of old, the temple is from a time when things were wildly different, and Luke knows that even if he were to come back, to rebuild, the memories and dreams of those who inhabited it before would only haunt him and whatever students he found. No, it was better this way, to finally let the temple rest, after all it had been through to bring Luke to this moment. 

His walk through the jungle back to his x-wing is just as sweaty and annoying as the trek in, but Luke’s irritation is tempered by the books pressed to his chest, the chance at something _more_ hidden within the crumbling pages. He wants nothing more than to plop himself down in the cockpit, to crack open the first one and read until the light of the day leaves him fumbling. Luke is sweating all over again by the time he catches sight of the faded red splashed along the hull of his ship, and the ladder lowers automatically, Artoo beeping a greeting as he hauls himself up into the open cockpit. 

He leaves the blanket and the books in his seat while he shrugs out of his heavy robe, folding it and tucking it in the space behind his chair. It leaves him in only the black fatigues underneath, but the faint breeze that rustles through the clearing he landed in is blissful and Luke sinks down into the seat with a lazy sigh. 

“I found books, Artoo! Not sure what they hold yet, but I’m going to-”

Artoo whistles, makes a whirring sound, and Luke scowls. 

“What do you mean there’s a communication for me?”

Sure enough the small holo relay on his dash is blinking slowly with an incoming recording and Luke groans, leaning back in his seat and staring up at the stars. He’d requested one thing from them when he’d agreed to help. _One_ thing, something that was easily given should they choose to do so. Luke sits there a moment more, debating on if he should ignore it when Artoo beeps inquisitively, offering to turn it on for him. He waves a hand dismissively, sitting up with a grunt and slapping the play button. Leia’s face shimmers into view immediately, kind but pinched with annoyance, and Luke squints. The slope of her shoulders hold an undeniable tension, a worry that betrays her calm demeanor. 

“Luke, the Senate has a new task for you. Please rendezvous on Coruscant at your earliest convenience.” Leia pauses, glancing at something to her left before her shoulders slump as she turns back to face the camera. “You aren’t going to like it. I’ll hold them off as long as I can- take your time coming home.”

Luke sits there mulling over the words as the holo with his sister’s face fades out. He isn’t going to like it? The thought brings with a strange pang of anxiety, curling in his gut and making his heart kick up a notch. If he’s not going to like it and Leia is willing to hold the Senate off then Luke is going to take his damn time getting back to Coruscant. As much as he wants to call it home, to let himself have a place to stop, to settle, Coruscant isn’t it. Leia is as close to home as he thinks he’ll ever get- his one constant, someone who won’t back down just because of who he is. She’s strong and smart, but where he shirks political messes, half because of the Jedi Code and half his own disinterest, Leia rises to the challenge. Blossoms with each situation she maneuvers through. The fact that she seemed so much like a wilting flower, petals all but ready to fall betrays just how badly she hates what is going to be asked of him. 

“Artoo, bring us back to Coruscant. Slow and steady.” Artoo whistles merrily, bringing the cockpit down around Luke and sealing him inside. He slips his helmet on and straps himself in, intent to do a bit of reading before they make it to the technocity. Artoo’s ascent through the atmosphere is a bit choppy, but Luke is used to that, bracing his feet along the bottom of the ship and tensing the muscles in his stomach. He hardly moves, and only once they’re in the vacuum of space, moving toward Coruscant does he open the first book.

The spine creaks eerily in protest at being opened, and most of the ink is faded or obscured. What Luke does manage to read is mostly journal entries, from a padawan by the looks of it. The entries are sporadic, messy, but he follows them as best he can. 

_They have us lifting stones. Stones! I can crumple an entire army of people under fist and they have us lifting pebbles. I tried to tell them, to show them just what I could do, but they urged patience. That’s all they ever go on about! “Be patient, be calm, the Force guides in all ways.” Well, if this is the Force guiding me, what was guiding me before? What called me to this cursed moon to sit with stuffy old men in scratchy robes who ignore my skill level and train me with children?_

Luke feels his own earlier training mirror the thoughts of whoever owned this journal before, and he can’t help but remember his masters. They’d been right in almost every way, in the way they were training, but Luke, like this person, was too blind to see. Too blinded by emotion, by worry for his sister and his friends and _everything_ to care. He still feels like it will choke him now sometimes, but he can never let the feeling quite catch up to him. He tucks the journal away for now, knowing that he isn’t going to get anything analytical from that particular volume. The next one that Luke cracks open is smaller, denser, and the ink on the paper is dark, as if fresh. The pages are crumbling at the edges, deteriorating with age, so the fact that everything else is holding up is intriguing. 

Luke loses himself within the pages.

Pages upon pages of Jedi training, rituals and rites of passage- all that Luke has ever dreamed of knowing is here, in this book. His heart soars with the implications, the knowledge he holds in his hand, and he reads greedily. There are entire passages on things he can do with the force, from growing plants to healing to reading someone’s mind- Luke had already been finely attuned to feelings, but the thought that he could read thoughts? That opened a can of worms he wasn’t sure he was ready to tell anyone about. Granted, the thought of invading someone’s privacy like that leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but the thought of all that Jedi were able to do, able to specialize in, makes him giddy, flushed with anticipation and nervous all over again. 

It’s almost enough to distract from the fact that whatever the Senate is about to have Luke do is dangerous and potentially life threatening. Luke flips through the rest of the book, skimming more so than reading, until Artoo whistles and chirps, alerting him that they’re about to break through hyperspace and into the artificial atmosphere around Coruscant. Bracing himself for the descent and the flashing lights of the city, he lets Artoo communicate with the tower as he brings them down to a private landing pad reserved specifically for Luke. He hardly uses it, more content to be off-world than among the smog and people who bother him for pictures and stories from the rebellion. He takes his time gathering his things and shrugging back into his robe, figuring he’ll be here long enough to at least go home. Luke wants to take his time walking to the Senate building, but he feels Leia before he sees her, and he drops from the cockpit nearly into her lap. 

“Leia-” He hardly has time to steady his feet before Leia is hugging him tight, arms squeezing around his ribs and cheek pressed to his chest. There’s no hesitation in Luke’s response as his arms go around her, Luke pressing his nose into her hair and closing his eyes. He holds her there as she shakes in his arms, fingers digging into his back. “Leia…”

Leia finally pulls back, dashes her hands across her cheeks and smiling weakly. The smile doesn’t light up her eyes like it normally does and Luke pulls her into another hug, this time letting her arms go around his neck as he squeezes _her_. He feels her shudder again, and finally she speaks when Luke sets her down, chucking her gently under the chin.

“I don’t like what they’re doing to you, Luke. Haven’t you done enough?” Luke doesn’t let his own anxiety bleed into Leia’s, instead merely raising a brow. 

“I’m the last Jedi, Leia. There are things they have to ask of me.”

“Not this. When is enough enough?” Luke feels Leia’s anger surge in her like a rising storm, but it’s tempered by her own confusion and heartache, and Luke reaches to take her hand. Leia stares down at his gloved hand, taking a deep breath before her shoulders square again, and this time when Luke looks at her, really looks, he sees the same hot-headed, determined Princess he saw on the Death Star so many years ago. 

“Let’s go see what they have to say.” 

Luke allows Leia to keep hold of his hand while they slip into the city, Artoo following along dutifully even as they hop from speeder to speeder. Luke’s landing pad and apartment are about as far from the Senate building as he can get without them throwing a fit, and Luke needs that distance. Craves it. Luke doesn’t miss being in the city, even with the cool breeze that’s so unlike the humidity of Yavin IV. The smog and din of people milling around him, of holorecorders snapping pictures as he moves through the crowd makes his skin crawl, and he fights the urge to pull his hood up. They’ve already gotten half a dozen pictures and headlines by now, Luke is estimating, so what’s a dozen more? 

What’s one more moment stolen from him in the grand scheme of all the ones stolen before?

The Senate building looms like all the other buildings, built of twisting steel and glass and overwrought opulence. Half of the budget that went to the building could have fed planets of people, but Luke tries not to see the waste in it. Tries to pretend that stepping foot into the building doesn’t make his stomach clench with untold anxiety. Leia is a steady presence beside him, having recovered from the landing pad, and she straightens her clothes and brushes a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. Once her armor is once again set in place she squares her shoulders, pushing into the main meeting room and ignoring the way that silence falls around her. 

He slips in behind her, hoping not to be noticed as she takes her seat. It doesn’t work, never has before, and Luke descends onto the floor as the desks of the senate rise above him in a slow wave, a sea of faces staring back. Luke folds his hands in front of him, aware that he is in no way in trouble, and projects serenity as strongly as he can manage. He sees the front row of senators relax, and knows he’s doing something right at least. 

“Master Skywalker, it’s good of you to join us.”

“I’m sorry I couldn't come sooner, I was preoccupied on Yavin IV.” Luke inclines his head toward the body of the Senate, hiding the scowl that wants to furrow his brow. 

“Did you find anything of import?” The question is innocent enough, curious even, but Luke can hear the double edged blade he’s balancing on, and he straightens up, giving a careful, bored shrug of his shoulders. 

“The ruins of the temple were in far worse shape than I thought. It will take quite a few visits to search through the whole thing.”

“We can have a team sent, if it would ease your struggles, Master Skywalker.”

Luke smiles, easy and warm, and shakes his head at the man who has deigned to do most of the speaking. “The temple is in poor shape, and I fear sending someone nor versed in the Force would only cause it’s gradual collapse to speed up.”

“A good point. Well…” Luke watches the way the crowd shifts, all at once glancing toward Leia before glancing back at the man asking the questions. Luke has dealt with him before, many times, but for the life of him he cannot remember his name. “We have a task for you, if you are willing to undertake it.”

“I believe the Senate gave me leave to resume my search for Jedi artifacts.” Luke points out, trying not to let his irritation rise when the man nods, fake sympathy etched into the wrinkles around his mouth. 

“That was… Before this newest problem had arisen.” Luke’s hands clench in front of him, fingers curling around each other, and he eases back with his right hand, careful not to crush his other fingers. Luke dips his head in a motion meant to tell them to go on, and to his annoyance and relief, they do. “There is a new king on Mandalore.”

“The glass planet? I thought it was inhospitable.” 

“It was under the Empire’s control for quite some time.” The man agrees, steepling his fingers against his chin as he leans back in his chair. “But a mandalorian has claimed the Darksaber from Moff Gideon, and by extension, risen to power.”

“And what am I to do about it? Mandalore is a ghost planet, a myth more than anything else. Why bother them?”

“Mandalorians are by far the greatest warriors this galaxy has ever seen.” Luke’s eyes widen marginally, flicking to Leia only to find hers steely with resolve. Growing horror mounts within Luke, gnawing at his heart and scraping across his ribs. “They despise the Empire and Imperials nearly as much as we, but we cannot risk them doing something out of desperation.”

“So reach out to them.”

Smiles among the Senate turn sharklike and Luke feels like a piece of bait lobbied into a sarlacc pit. Waiting with resigned dread to be eaten alive. “We have. We have offered the help of our greatest asset and commander of the Rebellion to aid their fight in retaking and rebuilding their planet.”

“You aren’t seriously thinking of sending Leia with me.” 

“No, Master Skywalker.” Relief floods Luke, making his knees go weak, but it’s drowned out by the sudden rushing in his ears. “We’re only sending you.”

Luke freezes at that, head emptying, stomach dropping away from him all at once. He feels hollowed out, dizzy with disbelief, and he can’t breathe standing under the lights and hungry gazes of the Senate. Luke does the only thing he can think to do: he turns on his heel, robe flaring out behind him as he turns and slips from the room, letting the door close with a final, resounding click. 

He’s running after that- thoughts a blur and faces passing him by in messy smears of colors and concern. Their feelings flood in him in waves of curiosity, awe, admiration that he doesn’t deserve, and by the time Luke makes it over and down to his apartment his heart is beating from his chest. He can’t go to Mandalore- it’s a death wish, certain and swift. Luke locks himself away in his apartment, moving through the dark of the living room without needing sight, ignoring the lights and Artoo’s quiet beeping. He has to think- there has to be a way to say no, to tell them in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t feel like dying on a planet no one has set foot on in decades. On a planet so steeped in agony and death and betrayal that Luke feels sick just at the mention of it. 

He knows Mandalore’s history, knows it and does not want to see it.

Luke is sitting on the floor in the living room, legs folded and eyes closed when the lock on his door beeps before the door itself slides open. There are only two people with access to the apartment, so Luke isn’t surprised when Leia’s aura brushes against his, watery and weak with sorrow as she sits across from him. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to see the way she slips into her own meditative state, breathing in and out in time with Luke to calm the raging of her heart and her emotions. Luke allows his own power to brush against hers, to gauge the way she’s feeling and offer his own steady calm in the absence of hers. 

“You don’t have to go.” She whispers, voice shaking in the dark of the room.

Luke sits there for a moment, throat tight, before he answers. “You know that isn’t true. If they don’t send me, they’ll send you. And when you don’t come back they’ll send me anyway.”

“They wouldn’t hurt me. Not with the strength the New Republic holds.” 

“You don’t know that.” Luke hears Leia’s mouth open to protest, but she stops short, unable to say anything truthfully and aware that if she lies Luke will feel it. “How long have they been planning this?”

“I don’t know. The rise of the new king was abrupt- one moment Mandalore was a barren planet, and the next? An old Imperial Remnant was blasting each and every Empire base into obscurity.”

“Moff Gideon’s ship.” Luke parses that much from the little the Senate gave him, and Leia makes a noise of affirmation. “How quickly did they take the planet back?”

“A matter of hours. They took out the air bases first: all the tie fighters, their best military outposts. It was a textbook take over. I doubt we could have done anything better.” 

Luke huffs out something resembling a laugh. Even in the face of the unknown Leia finds something to learn from, and Luke loves her more for it. “Why me?”

“You’re a status symbol. A mark of the New Republic’s power. For you to willingly step foot on the planet, to go and talk to their king? It’s-”

“Monumental. A moment in history.” Luke finishes, words twisted and bitter on his tongue. As if he hasn’t had a lifetime of making history. Of bleeding and bleeding and bleeding for a cause. 

“I tried to fight against it.” Leia says softly, voice full of iron. “You’re one man, surely they could find a contingent of people to represent us. But once your name was suggested no one listened to anything else.”

“It’s okay.” He says, even though it’s far from okay. This is the path that he’s been placed on, and there’s no way he can get out of it. He knows deep in his heart, in the very core of him that this is inevitable- like the rising and falling of the tides, Luke is on a direct course toward whatever destiny is in store for him, and he’s only holding on in the desperate hope he makes it out relatively unscathed. “Go, Leia, tell them that I’ve decided.”

“What have you decided?” Luke smiles, leaning forward to nudge Leia’s knee with a hand and shoo her up to her feet.

“You’ll hear in the morning, when I tell the council.”

  
  



	2. The Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke tells the council of his decision, and makes his way to the mysterious planet of Mandalore.

Luke gives himself the night to rage, to cry and beat his fists against the wall of his apartment. His knuckles smart and ache as he lays in bed that night, exhaustion pulling at his body and throat raw from screaming. There’s nothing else he can think to do to get the horrible, aching abyss of fear from his system, and by the time he falls asleep he’s slipped into stony resignation. 

He wakes early that morning, dresses in black- both as a virtue and in mourning, and meanders his way to the Senate building. He takes his time, in no hurry to give his answer, and by the time he graces the Senate with his presence it’s obvious they’ve been arguing for hours. Luke briefly catches Leia’s eyes, winking before taking his place in the middle of the floor again, hands tucked inside his sleeves to hide the way they shake. 

“Good morning, Master Skywalker.”

“Good morning. I apologize for my abrupt departure yesterday.” 

Hands wave in the air, as if batting the apology away, and a Twi’lek woman pipes in, face warm and far more friendly than Luke expects. “It’s a lot we’re asking of you, Master Skywalker. It’s only right that you be worried.”

“Before I agree to anything.” Luke cuts in, voice smooth as the crowd shifts before him. “I want to know what you expect of me. What am I supposed to do that diplomats specifically trained for this can’t?” 

“Of course,” The man from before agrees, nodding his head sagely and looking down at him. “Mandalorian culture isn’t like ours. They have no diplomats, not truly. They’re warriors, master Skywalker, and so we are sending a warrior to help.”

It’s…. A fair enough point, but Luke knows half the people in the Senate fought in the Rebellion, Leia included, and that can’t be all there is to it. “Say I help, agree to go aid in their rebuilding. When do I leave? When, Senator, is enough enough?” 

Luke echoes his sister's words from last night, though his voice doesn’t shake like hers did and he holds himself as straight and still as possible. The question seems to give them pause, as if not expecting it, and Luke’s brow twitches. They weren’t planning on him coming back, it seems. They turn in on themselves, debating, and only turn back once they seem to come to some kind of agreement. 

“The mandalorians will decide when they’ve been aided enough. Be that two days or two months, we cannot say.” Luke purses his lips, displeased with the answer, but there’s only so much he can ask for in this situation. 

After a moment’s pause Luke sighs, bowing his head in a nod before looking over the council. “I’m willing to go to Mandalore as a representative.”

“Fantastic! They aren’t expecting you for a week at least yet, so you’ve some time to prepare.” Luke dips into a bow, turning on his heel to leave, but the man isn’t finished speaking. “Master Skywalker, while you’re there- Mandalorians have a long and bloody history with the Jedi. Perhaps it would be better for you to be just a man.”

Luke whirls around, eyes blazing, and the entirety of the Senate save for Leia jerks back in their chairs at the sight of him, eyes dark and face tight with anger. 

“You want me to go to Mandalore, stand in front of their king, and  _ lie _ about who I am while offering help?”

“We do not want to offend them, Master Skywalker. It’s imperative that we-”

“They could kill me.” Luke seethes, heart beating wildly and leaping up into his throat. “You ask for too much Senator- I am a Jedi, and it is their decision on whether they want to accept help from me or not because of that fact.”

“No, it isn’t.” Luke’s expression shutters all at once at the hard reply, shocked. “You will go as a prince, Master Skywalker, and nothing more. You will help as a Commander of the Rebellion, and then you will leave. Is that understood?”

“And if they find out? If they kill me? What will you do then when your messes begin to pile up? Who will you call on then?” Luke fires back, back ramrod straight, anger painting his cheeks and neck in angry splotches of red. 

“You’d best be a good actor, Master Skywalker. Your life depends on it.” The man smiles at him, pleasant and meaningless, and for the second time in the span of a day Luke turns on his heel and storms out of the Senate building, shoving into the streets and letting the pandemonium around him swallow him whole. Luke can feel his anger like a beast with hackles raised, and he slips his hood up and over his head, obscuring his face to the crowd and to the cameras that try to capture his departure from the building. Luke descends into the lower levels of the city, into the seedy underbelly that anyone who looks and carries himself like Luke should stay away from. 

But Luke isn’t worried about pickpockets or getting mugged: he needs weapons, anything he can reliably carry on his person beneath his clothes while on Mandalore. He won’t be able to use his lightsaber, won’t be able to use the force, and so he’s going to have to fall back on the skills he’d learned while a pilot. He hasn’t gone shopping for a blaster or a knife in ages, but the vendors all cow at the power radiating off him, and finding an honest one who isn’t lying about the quality is far easier than he expected. Though perhaps with the ability to sense when they’re lying he has an advantage that others don’t. 

He leaves the black market with a new blaster and a knife tucked into each boot, though he knows instinctively it’ll do nothing against a mandalorian. Not that he should be thinking of them as enemies, and on the off chance he  _ is _ discovered, is outed as a Jedi, all bets would be off. There would be no need to hide his capabilities, what he could truly do with a lightsaber in hand and the Force around him. It’s Luke’s only comfort as he heads back to his apartment, intent on packing what little he has for the journey to Mandalore. For his next mission. 

The lights are on in his apartment when he slips through the door, and he grunts when Leia’s small form slams into him. Luke hugs her tight for a moment before pulling back, keeping her at arm's length. “I didn’t know.” Leia says, voice rushed and eyes wide. “That wasn’t supposed to be part of it.”

“I know.” Leia shakes her head, more protests on her lips, but Luke tightens his grip on her upper arms, waiting until her eyes lock with his. “I  _ know _ . Leia, none of this is your fault.”

“I should have fought harder- Luke they’ll- If they find out what you are, that you lied to them about it-”

“They won’t. And if they do,” Luke says, letting go of Leia so she won’t feel how his hands shake. “I’d best be prepared to fight people in beskar.”

“Luke-”

“I’ve already said yes, Leia. There’s nothing else I can do.” Leia shudders, shoulders folding forward, and Luke hates the sight of it. He uses a finger to lift her chin, flashing a lopsided smile and tilting his head. “Do you want to help me pack?”

“How much are you bringing?” Leia asks, as if the thought that he needs to  _ pack _ is strange.

“I have to have  _ something _ to wear.” Leia rolls her eyes, but there’s a small smile twitching at the corners of her mouth and Luke takes what he can get. He heads Leia back to his room, fishing a suitcase out from under his bed and tossing it onto the bed for Leia to open. It’s old and banged up and honestly looks more like a repurposed crate than anything, but Luke’s had it for years and it may or may not actually be a crate from his house on Tatooine. “What’s the climate like on Mandalore?”

“No one knows. We sent a missive to ask them, since they’re allowing a representative, but they didn’t reply.”

“How mysterious.” Luke is going to have to improvise then- He tucks a couple of his heavier cloaks at the bottom, just in case, but he has a strange feeling in his stomach that he won’t need them. If anything he can use them as padding. Most of his clothes are black- the same shirt and pants he wears over and over, albeit in sometimes different ways. He packs three sets to cycle through as well as a couple of tan outfits, designed more for hot weather and working in the sun. It should prepare him for anything, whether the climate is more like Hoth or Yavin or even Tatooine. There are a couple of more symbolic outfits he packs, ones meant more to be impressive, but he isn’t sure they’re going to matter as much. Mandalorians all wear the same armor, so what do clothes matter to them? 

“That’s all you’re going to pack?” Luke glances up from the half full trunk, raising a brow and tilting his head at Leia. “You’re supposed to be pretending that you’re a prince.”

“I’m not a prince, though. And I’m going there to help them rebuild- I doubt fancy outfits are going to help me any.”

“Appearances are everything. Do you know anything about mandalorians?”

“Other than they used to hunt the Jedi down? No, not much.” Luke rolls his eyes at the glare Leia levels his way, closing the trunk and setting it at the foot of the bed. He kicks his boots off before sprawling back against the bed, Leia hesitating for only a moment before carefully tucking herself into the space that Luke makes for her at his side. She lays her head carefully on his shoulder, staring up at the ceiling while she talks. 

“I studied a bit, when I thought I was going to be the representative. I think you could use a crash course in mandalorian culture.”

“I’m your willing student.” Leia laughs, elbowing him in the side as he laughs with her, but he settles himself down, resting a hand on his stomach to count his breaths while Leia talks. Any mention of the mandalorians, of what he’s been tasked to do makes his heart skyrocket in his chest, and he idly wonders if this is how other Jedi felt when tasked with what seems like the impossible. 

“They’re a warrior people, as you know. They follow a Creed, much like your Jedi Code. They wear their armor constantly, and don’t remove it in the company of anyone outside of their clan.”

“That must get sweaty.” 

“Quiet,” Leia chides, a smile in her voice that Luke knows she’s trying not to let show on her face. “Asking someone to remove their armor is like asking you to strip naked in public. Don’t do it.”

“What if I say I’ll strip with them?”

“Take this seriously, Luke.”

Luke raises the hand on his stomach in a placating gesture, laughing nervously before settling again. “I am, I am. Bad habit.”

Leia huffs quietly, but she doesn’t seem to have anything else to say and they lapse into silence. Luke’s mind wanders once again back to the task at hand, the threat of the unknown looming over him. Somehow the thought of traveling to Mandalore seems more daunting than finding ancient Jedi text or starting a new school. Jedi training, the feelings of the force, those are things he somewhat understands. But the thought of going to Mandalore, of interacting with a culture, a group of people he’s never met, who actively dislike his kind? He’d rather blow up a thousand death stars than face down mandalorians in armor impervious to his lightsaber. 

He has a week to prepare, to train himself in being just a man, and he supposes it can start now. Luke can’t bear the thought of cutting himself off from the force, so instead he pretends he can’t hear it. It takes a minute for him to stay attuned while not listening, but soon the faint brush of Leia’s emotions is no more than an afterthought and Luke isn’t so intimately aware of the shivering of power around him. It’s odd for him to focus so hard on being aware yet unaware and he doesn't notice Leia talking or sitting up until she snaps her fingers in his face, inches from his forehead. He blinks, trying to focus, but it sounds like he’s underwater and Luke lets some of his unawareness peel back. 

“What?”

“You can’t bring Artoo or the X-wing.” Luke sits up in bed, nearly knocking his head against Leia’s with the motion. Leia shifts back, anticipating the reaction, and she purses her lips, looking at him with raised eyebrows. “They’re too well known. They tie you to being a Jedi.”

“I’m supposed to pretend to be a commander of the Rebellion. It would make sense I fly an x-wing!”

“Too much sense. You’ll be dropped off on Mandalore by an escort and you’ll have to call it back when you’re ready to go.”

“I’m going to a planet that wants to kill me, while hiding my identity,  _ without a ship _ ?” Leia winces at the way he phrases it, shoulders lifting toward her ears as she shrinks in on herself a bit. Only now, in a space no one could ever see her, with him, does she allow herself to doubt. Luke reads more from that stance in the moment it’s there than he hears in her words, and anger boils up in his chest, sitting like a coal where his heart should be. “This is more of the Senate’s decision. Fine. Fine, they can dictate what they want. I’ll do a lot for peace, Lee, but sending me without a way to get back is near suicide.”

“I know it is. That vote, believe it or not, was actually only a narrow margin. Most didn’t see the point in sending you without a ship, but there were enough.”

“What am I supposed to be while I’m there? A prince, surely, as they insist, not a jedi. But  _ who _ am I allowed to be? The instant I say my name someone is going to recognize me.”

“You could take my last name for the time being.” Leia suggests, but when Luke thinks about being called Luke Organa he cringes, Leia laughing softly and knocking their shoulders together. “Better than Luke Solo.”

“Ugh.” Leia laughs at that, truly laughs, and Luke is only glad that Han isn’t here to get offended and start a tussle. “I guess I’ll just have to be what I was on Tatooine.”

“A farmer?”

“Just Luke.” Leia hums thoughtfully at that, tilting her head, but she seems pleased enough by the answer. 

“Another interesting fact of mandalorian culture,” She chimes in. “Is that names are sacred. No one will ask you for it, only wait until it’s given. How much you give or when you give is up to you.”

“So I can’t ask anyone their names? What if someone says their name in front of me?”

“You can’t use it. It has to be offered of free will, not taken. It’s quite poetic, don’t you think? A piece of yourself that you offer another person.” 

Luke is the one to dig his elbow into Leia’s side this time, waggling his brows. “Second thoughts on going? You’re almost as much a Jedi warrior as I am, we could switch.”

Leia scowls, shaking her head, but they both know Luke would never willingly let her take his place. The thought sticks with him though as Leia leaves for the night and he spends time thinking of what else to pack. He doesn't have to offer his name anymore than any of them do, and no one would act as if it were suspicious. Luke might not agree with lying to them, with hiding such a fundamental part of his identity, but he’s a far cry from outting himself immediately, especially to a group of people who have the capability to hunt him down rather easily. 

Luke showers the stress of the day away before tucking himself in bed with the book from the temple. He’d skimmed the others the night before, trying to glean what he could from them, but one’s pages had crumbled completely in his hands and another was in a language he didn’t understand at all. The journal was amusing to read but mostly subjective, and Luke wanted to know more about what he could do. What the Jedi before him taught, and thought prudent to pass on. The passages about different abilities is what interests him most, and he reads the short section on plant rearing and animal husbandry. Neither seem directly related to the force, but the force is within every living thing, so using it to make a sprout grow, a flower bloom? To read and interpret the way your cattle feel? That was useful, something that Luke could use to survive on basically any planet so long as he had an animal or plants to manipulate. 

He spends time reading on force healing after that, delving into the medical diagrams etched carefully into the pages. Most of it is above Luke's knowledge- he knows where his heart is but why does he need to know what a ventricle is to heal it? The text stresses a fine understanding of the body before attempting to use the force to heal, but when Luke listens, _really_ listens he can hear every ache or pain or paper cut for a half mile around him. Shutting that part of his powers off is like wrestling with a spigot that has no handle- slippery and painful, and by the time he manages to shutter the connections Luke is weak and shaky.

Luke reads long into the night until his eyes burn and the sound of speeders flying through the city mostly quiets, and only then does he set his book down, tucking it carefully into the drawer of his nightstand before rolling onto his stomach and clutching his pillow beneath his chin. He counts his heartbeats, monitors his breathing the way Yoda taught him to clear his mind, and with those two techniques, manages to slip into a dark, quiet sleep. Luke repeats this routine of having Leia over, talking him through what to avoid before retiring for the night to read, head full of facts and fears and everything in between.

_ The stench of fire, of burning cloth and wood and plastic fills his nostrils. It’s hard to breathe through the smoke billowing from the building, but Ben said that he’d left something here and Luke had to get it before it burned. Artoo whistled, charging into the building ahead of him, and once it was clear nothing would happen, motioned with his little claw for Luke to come in. Luke kept an arm firmly over his nose while he looked around, eyes watering, and found a wooden box untouched in the living room. Luke didn’t know what was inside, but the force radiated off the box nearly as strongly as it had Ben, and Luke knows he’s going in the right direction.  _

_ Luke scoops it to his chest, turning to leave just as a cylinder clanks to a stop in the doorway. Luke stares at it a moment, confused, before a bright flash of light screeches across his vision, searing his eyes as he cries out and stumbles backwards. He blinks desperately, trying to see, and hears the heavy foot fall of boots, the cold press of a blaster against his head. Luke’s lightsaber is in his hand before he can react and he swings blindly, hearing the blade scorch across metal as his assailant stumbles back.  _

_ He tries to get away, really he does, scrambling across the ground as his vision comes back in spotty blotches of color, but all he can see is a helmet, painted red and green and utterly emotionless as a gloved hand reaches out for him. Luke’s heart pounds in his chest in time with his frantic breathing and he does the first thing he can think of- he throws the box, watching as it crashes against the helmet and sends the masked assailant sprawling backward. It’s a good throw, one Luke doesn’t think he’d be able to manage without the force, but Luke doesn’t stop to pat himself on the back, scooping the box up and leaping over the prone form of the mandalorian before him, escaping out into the sand and wind of midday Tatooine.  _

He wakes up drenched in sweat, throat burning as he heaves in a few deep breaths to steady himself. He sits up in bed, raking a hand through his hair as the racing of his heart slows and levels out, breaths coming easier and easier to him until the tightness in his throat, the smell of smoke fades from his blankets. The first time he’d met a mandalorian had been a long, long time ago. When he was young and panicked and had no clue what he was doing. Nothing had prepared him for the panic of his blade not landing, or the frantic, weepy way he felt afterward, running back to a confused Han who didn’t know how to comfort him anymore than Luke knew how to explain. They’d only left, and fast, and Luke hadn’t wanted to see anyone in a helmet for a long time after that. 

Luke wonders if it’s fate that brought him here now, about to come face to face with a whole city of the same kind of people who had tried to kidnap him before. Realistically he knows that the same bounty hunter could be there, but Luke worries all the same. There are a thousand variables able to break his cover, to ruin the ruse before it’s even begun, and Luke desperately hopes that won’t be one of them. 

He’s been worrying about it for the past three days actually, wearing a hole in his carpet and driving Artoo up the wall. He’s supposed to leave out late tonight to make it to Mandalore on time, but Luke still has no idea how he’s going to convince anyone to let him help, let alone take him seriously. Luke tries not to let it get to him as he goes about getting himself ready, showering and checking over what he’s packed for the tenth time since packing it. He can pack the rest of what he needs now, toiletries and his books and anything else to keep himself occupied on the long flight and longer nights he’s bound to experience. 

His hands haven’t stopped shaking since he was told he was going to Mandalore. Anxiety and worry are his constant companions now, twisting in his gut and wringing him out, but he’s able to handle it. To work through it without leaning into the force for comfort. He almost remembers how to operate without the force, drawing on his childhood of being nothing. Of being a normal child, content to shoot at womp rats and race through the canyon. 

“Luke?” He hears a knock on his door, a faint voice he recognizes as Leia’s, and wonders why she doesn’t let herself in. When he pads to the door, releasing the lock and letting it slide open he sees why. Behind her stand the contingent of people he’s set to travel with, all to make sure he doesn’t run off to a distant planet. Luke knows, has known since the beginning that his lack of ship was not for his cover story, but more so that he couldn’t run away if he felt like it. Like they assume he’s a coward, despite all he’s done, all he’s seen. 

Luke tamps tightly down on the rage that tries to surface, smiling at his sister. “That time already?”

Leia opens her mouth to speak but never gets the chance, someone piping up behind her. “Are you already packed, Master Skywalker?”

“I am. Wait here a moment.” The door slides shut in their faces, sealing the apartment from them, and Luke goes to grab his trunk, hefting it into his arms. He could lighten the load with his powers, but it feels frivolous and shallow now, with all the pretending he’s been doing, so instead he lugs it through his apartment, dropping it at his chaperones feet as he turns to shut and lock his apartment away. Leia will be able to check on Artoo, make sure he hasn’t ruined the apartment while he’s gone

When Luke turns back around no one has moved, and he raises a brow, hefting the trunk and motioning with his other hand for them to move. Leia stays behind with Luke while they walk to the cruiser waiting to take them to Mandalore, and Luke feels the force swell around them. He tries not to latch onto it too hard, but Leia’s thoughts drift to him, lending him strength and reassuring him that he’ll be okay without her ever saying a word. Affection swells in Luke, flowing through the bond, and he sees Leia smile out of the corner of his eyes, a hand going up to her chest to press against her heart. Luke’s own chest burns with the feeling, and he mirrors her action, as if praying. The others pay it no mind, more content to ignore the odd pair.

Luke allows them to take his trunk up and into the carrier when they finally reach the platform, lingering outside the ship for a moment so that they can say goodbye. 

“Will you send for me?” Leia asks, voice hopeful, and Luke can’t help the rueful smile that tugs at his lips. 

“If they let me use their relay I’ll call at least once a day. Maybe more, if I can feel you getting bored enough.” Leia laughs softly, shaking her head, and Luke grins. He doesn’t want a sad goodbye, hardly wants a goodbye at all, but Leia seems to know that, instead going up on her tiptoes to place a soft kiss right between his eyes while pressing a box into his hands. “What’s this?”

Leia’s hands still his when he goes to open it, smiling softly. “Something that will help you, I think. Mandalorians aren’t huge on fashion, but symbols mean everything.”

“When should I open it?”

“Before you see the king. Or, the  _ Mand’alor  _ rather.”

“I thought that was the name of the planet.” Luke says, confused, and Leia laughs, nodding.

“It is.  _ Mand’alor _ is the name they use for their leader- it means ‘one true ruler’. It can be confusing.”

“Well, hopefully I don’t call the first person I see  _ Mand’alor. _ ” He draws one more laugh out of Leia before someone pokes their head out, calling for Luke’s attention. She touches his elbow, urging him on, but Luke hugs her one more time just to be safe before jogging over to and up the ramp, disappearing into the belly of the ship. Luke goes to the room that they’ve designated for him just as the ship begins to lift, knocking him off balance and sending him careening into the wall. He catches himself, palm slapping against the metal of the wall, and scowls. He wouldn’t have to worry about this if he were flying alone with Artoo. But instead he gets to sit on the cot in the corner of his room and hold on tight as they force their way through the atmosphere and into open space. 

Luke regrets not demanding that he be allowed to fly his own ship: The pilots that swap out every six hours don’t do so smoothly, allowing the ship to stall in hyperspace momentarily before kicking back into higher speed, and every time Luke hits his head on  _ something _ . He’s grateful he seems to have a relatively thick skull, because he doesn’t need a concussion fighting him while trying to talk to the king of a passively hostile planet who are still trying to decide if the Republic is even worth communicating with. 

Luke is getting dressed when the ship stalls yet again, though this time Luke is ready for it, bracing himself with a hand against the wall as he secures the vambrace around his arm. The ship stalls, slowing, but this time it drops out of hyperspace completely and Luke’s elbow buckles at the sheer force of his body stopping while the rest of the ship stutters as well. He narrowly avoids smashing his nose against the wall and he’s had enough- he’s been thrown around in a ship more in the past two days that he has in his entire life of dogfighting in his X-wing and he goes storming up to the bridge, shoving past the guard at the door with barely more than a glance. 

“Get out of the chair.” His voice is low, venomous, the first he’s spoken to anyone in two days, and the pilot that his blue gaze is pinned on cowers. “ _ Move _ .” 

The pilot vacates the seat without another glance to his partner, the ship dipping as the other pilot struggles to hold the weight on their yolks. Luke slips into the chair, strapping himself in quickly and taking over. The ship is heavier, so much heavier than he’s used to in his single person ship, but Luke revels in the burn in his arms as he guides the ship back up, glancing over at the other pilot and nodding his head. She seems relieved at the sight of him, and when she reaches to flip a switch, prepping them for the descent through the atmosphere Luke sees a tattoo peek out from under her sleeve. It isn’t much, just a quick glance, but Luke grins. 

“You were a pilot in the rebellion. Which squadron?” Her eyes flick up to him, wide and scared, but Luke smiles, eyes trained back on the viewport as they begin a slow tip down toward the planet. 

“Green. Only saw one battle before the rest of my squadron was wiped out.” 

“I lost most of my unit in the Battle of Yavin.” Luke says, letting out a long, slow breath at the memory. The pilot beside him visibly relaxes at the mention of the battle, as if knowing Luke was there is enough to assuage any worries she had about him taking over the piloting of an enormous cruiser. “You’ve flown commercial ever since?”

“Pretty much all I was good at. Do you still fly?”

“Same X-wing I used on Yavin.” Luke boasts, grinning when the pilot whistles low in appreciation. 

“They decommissioned mine for the New Republic officers. I miss it a lot. She was old, but  _ man _ could she fly.” 

“They tried, but my R2 unit kept shocking anyone who touched the controls. They decided it was easier to leave it with me instead.” The pilot laughs, and it’s through their easy conversation, reminiscing about their shared past that they break through the atmosphere with hardly a jolt. Before him stretches a vast expanse of bone white sand, heat shimmering in waves, and Luke is so surprised by the familiar ache in his chest that he almost doesn’t notice the ships that pull up on either side of the cruiser. They’ve hardly made it through the atmosphere when their comms crackle, a metallic voice droning into the cockpit. 

“Please proceed to the landing pad, and keep all personnel in the ship until we contact.” The pilot doesn't seem to have expected this, but Luke flips on the comms on the headset he’d slipped on, speaking without really thinking. 

“Understood. You need to adjust three degrees or we’re going to rake that wing of yours off.” Luke can sense more than see the two smaller space ships that have pulled up beside him, but one does as he says, adjusting, and the ship very narrowly escapes being batted down by the large engines of the cruiser. Luke and the unnamed pilot circle the landing pad twice, eyeing it critically. It’s going to be a tight squeeze, a near impossible feat in itself, but Luke flips a couple of switches, presses a button and the engines drop to a dull whine, dramatically decreasing their speed.

The other pilot doesn’t ask how he knew to do what she was thinking of- instead he sees her focus, fingers tightening around the yolk as they move in tandem, easing the ship down and sighing when the ship jumps, settling onto the hydraulics of the landing gear and slowly lowering them closer to the ground. Once the pilot beside him drops her hands from the yolk Luke does the same, shucking the helmet off and slipping from the pilot’s chair he’d commandeered

“You’re good. Get better partners.” The other pilot looks up, startled when Luke claps a hand on her shoulder, and she’s blushing when she nods in agreement. Luke leaves the bridge quickly after that, hurrying to his room. There’s one more thing he has to do before he gets out onto the planet itself: Leia’s gift is still sitting on top of his things, tormenting him.

It seems appropriate now to open it, and Luke slips the box out of his trunk, smoothing his fingers over the surface. It’s wooden, sturdy and meant to protect whatever is inside. Luke takes a breath, then two, and pops the clasp holding it shut. He sees velvet first, soft and rich under his fingertips, and when he lifts the lid all the way his breath punches out of him all at once. 

Leia has given him a tiara. 

Well, it’s not a tiara- Luke knows that much right away, it’s meant to sit lower on his head, but he feels ridiculous looking at it. He isn’t a prince, for as much as the Senate likes to imply he is. It’s highly inappropriate for him to even think about wearing it, but something about it calls to him. Luke moves to the small mirror built into the wall, lifting the circlet from the case and staring at the dull, polished silver of the band. The metal matches the vambraces of his chosen first outfit- a simple black ensemble with a charcoal grey poncho draped over his shoulders. He cinches it at the waist, pulling it to one side in a clean, asymmetrical look and letting the rest of the material pool behind him, casting a longer silhouette. It’s the simplest thing he could come up with that still somehow felt princely without seeming weak- the vambraces weren’t beskar, he wasn’t  _ that _ well endowed, but the durasteel would hold up to a lot and it made Luke feel less naked. 

He’d slicked his hair back before but the helmet messed everything up, so Luke spends a moment brushing his hair back out of his face before lifting the circlet and settling it neatly on his head. It’s lighter than he expects, and Luke finally sees what Leia means. The downward triangle that makes up the apex of the circlet accentuates the strong line of his nose, and the fiery stones inlaid in a pattern of stars gleam sapphire blue in the light of the ship. It makes Luke’s eyes even bluer, electric and stark against the ivory of his skin and the pitch black of his outfit. He seems otherworldly, for lack of a better word, and he isn’t sure how this is going to create less of a target. 

Luke doesn't get a chance to debate taking it off, because he can hear people running past his room shouting commands, and Luke grabs his trunk, slipping from his room and following the frantic crowd. His chaperones wait for him near the loading dock, and Luke scowls when someone comes to take his trunk. A prince shouldn’t carry his own things they say, and Luke has to bite back his protest of  _ not being a prince _ . 

The doors to the loading dock finally open, sand sweeping in to meet them, and Luke steps forward, treading carefully down the ramp. The sun glows hot and fierce above them, washing out the sand around them, and Luke fights not to raise a hand as he works his way toward the group of mandalorians waiting for them at the bottom.


	3. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke meets the Mand'alor and settles into his new home.

Luke's contingent elects not to follow him out onto the sand. Instead, Luke beckons the person who took his trunk from him earlier and takes it from them, hoisting it in hand and turning back to the mandalorians waiting for him. They watch him, visors painted in sharp, bold patterns, and seem to be waiting for something. Luke is a patient man, and stands there, watching them as they watch him, until eventually one jerks their head to the side, turning to leave. Luke follows him dutifully, feet digging into the sand, heat seeping through his boots. The same aching familiarity sweeps over him, as if Luke is merely returning instead of beginning, and he practically bounces over the sand. He can't see it, but he can sense their unease at his presence, their reluctant surprise that he seems to be managing the trek through the sand just fine. 

But Luke knows sand like he knows an old friend, and it's never slowed him down before. 

Luke ignores when they make little gestures toward him, ignores the way he can feel their eyes roaming over him before eventually settling on the symbol emblazoned on his circlet. It definitely attracts attention, and Luke doesn't like it. He doesn't  _ want _ attention, not from anyone back home, and certainly not from a group of mandalorians who don't trust him as far as they can throw him. Which, considering how beefy some of them seem to appear under the armor, might be surprisingly far. 

Their trek through the sand from the landing pad is brief but hard, and Luke is almost out of breath by the time they crest the peak of a dune. Luke gasps at the sight of the city before him: He had no clue what to expect upon coming here, but he stares, transfixed, at the huge crystalline dome that encases the city. Buildings rise in tight knit communities, one building rising nearly to the top of the dome, pointed spire alone among others. Luke can't keep his eyes off of it. He can see, can sense people teeming about within, and he slips down the dune, digging his heels in to stay upright as they cascade down the side. A couple of the mandalorians forgo walking down altogether, leaping forward and using small bursts from the jetpacks strapped to their backs to slow their fall. If Luke weren’t so unassumingly normal he’d have gone soaring with them, just to show he could. 

Instead, Luke slips and slides his way through the sand, occasionally dipping a hand down to feel the hot, grainy particles pour between his fingers. He’s careful to do so only with his left hand- sand in the joints of his prosthetic are the last thing he wants, and he knows that even as high as his glove rises it’s bound to slip in. 

The closer to the city he gets the more the force overwhelms him, lapping at his body like waves on the beach- each building holds a piece of history, an echo of someone’s love and loss, and Luke can feel himself shaking. Curiosity brushes against him, sweet and light, and Luke’s eyes find a child peering out from behind her mother, green eyes wide and scared. She shrinks back when Luke spots her staring, but Luke flashes a warm smile and winks, smile growing when he sees her giggle and cover her mouth to muffle the sound. The mandalorians escorting him notice his wandering gaze and one gives a grunt, reaching out to take Luke’s elbow and haul him along. 

Luke doesn't fight against the grip, no matter how he wants to, but it only lasts a moment before one of the others snaps something and he's let go. Luke tries to keep himself the picture of calm as they slip through the gate leading into the city, the ground turning to stone underneath his feet. They've even faster through the city, Luke ushered through as more and more people surge to take to the streets. Luke has never seen so much armor, so many varying paint jobs, and he's dizzy with the sights and feelings around him by the time they practically corral him up the steps into the building with the spire.

It sits in the heart of the city and Luke stumbles up a step when he gets to the doorway. He writes it off as a slip, laughing and mumbling about being clumsy, but his heart rages in his chest, beating so hard that Luke can barely get a breath with the way it rattles in his ribcage. The force, for all its needed calm, rushes and eddies around him, sweeping him further and further into the building until he has to actively focus lest his clothes start flapping madly.

"You will address him only when he speaks first." Luke jolts at the feminine voice that murmurs beside him, and Luke blinks a few times to clear his vision. He doesn't know where she came from, but her golden helmet is well worn and the fur that lines her shoulders seems far too hot for the climate. 

"As  _ Mand'alor?" _

The women's shoulders twitch at his pronunciation, but she nods. "You are a guest here, and any dishonor you bring falls directly on your Republic."

"I'm aware." Luke says, throat tight, and the woman nods her head again. Oddly enough, Luke thinks she's trying to help steel his nerves. "Thank you." He says, surprised to find he means it. 

The woman nods, staring at him a moment more before the other mandalorians break away, heading in opposite directions. Two go to grab the doors, and one takes his suitcase, hauling it off to who knows where. Luke will have to hope they don't go through it. He isn't worried about his lightsaber- it's tucked firmly against the small of his back under his belt, hidden and hardly accessible, but having the weapon on him is relief enough. Luke doesn't have any more time to think, to steady himself before the woman waves him through the door, Luke taking a deep breath before striding inside. 

He keeps his steps as even as he can, trying to appear princely, but he doesn't have Leia's same easy stride or Han's swagger. Instead he's always likened himself to a wild animal- stalking into rooms and scaring whoever has the misfortune to see him first. Because there's always fear- Luke's sweeping robes and unearthly aura had always pushed people away from him, and even with careful control over it Luke still watches as a few mandalorians take an unconscious step back, hearts picking up in their rhythm. Luke pretends that he isn't coated in their fear, their distrust, as he stops in the middle of the room and tucks into a sloppy half bow. 

He stays that way, right hand tucked against his chest until the air in the room is so charged with energy that Luke feels like his hair could be floating. Which it isn't, thank the stars, or Luke would have explaining to do. Luke doesn't mean to glance up, not as quickly as he does, but his eyes lock with the visor on a dull silver helmet and Luke's whole world shudders to a stop. 

He stands there, hand on his chest even as he straightens up, eyes sweeping over the man who dominates the throne. He's slim, not nearly as bulky as others, but the threat that oozes from him is undeniable, and Luke knows who he's looking at. He'd heard of a mandalorian with pure beskar, and realistically it makes sense that it would be their king. Luke's eyes rake over him unconsciously, drinking in the rich hues of the paint on his armor. It's minimal, compared to everyone else, but Luke can't seem to draw in a full breath.

The hollows of the helmets cheeks have been filled with black, making his face seem impossibly slim, but there's gold, shimmering and molten, lining the edges to draw out the odd negative space. The ridges and edges of his pauldrons and thigh plates are also gold, shining just as bright as the untouched beskar, and his gaze traces the violent slash of white, gold and black that splatters across his chest piece. It's messy, deliberately so, and somehow more intimidating that any other mandalorian paint job he's ever seen. Luke is staring so pointedly that he almost misses the voice that comes from the helmet, soft and amused. 

" _ You're _ the representative?" Luke raises a brow, tilting his head, and lets a smile slowly dawn across his face. 

"Unfortunately I am,  _ Mand'alor. _ " That draws an unexpected response from the  _ Mand'alor _ , a slight rise and fall of his shoulders and trickle of amusement. "I was sent here to help, in whatever small way I can."

The amusement cools to something resigned as quickly as it bloomed. "We do not need," the man begins softly, "or want the Republic's help."

"If I recall,  _ Mand'alor _ , and I have a fairly good memory- you invited  _ me _ here."

"For you to deliver a message." Luke straightens up then, chin lifting, and the  _ Mand'alor _ leans forward, head tilting in a distinctly bird-like way. Luke has never used size as an advantage, has never been large or bulky, so instead he turns toward what he does have. He grins, bright and unhurried, and relaxes his stance despite the tension lining his muscles. He pretends, like he has for years, that the man on the throne, bathed in swathes of blacks and golds and whites does not scare him. 

"If the message is 'Fuck off', you could have merely redirected our ship." The room around him goes deathly silent, and the slow scrape of metal against the throne as the Mand'alor stands echoes through the chamber and through Luke himself. He holds himself steady, loose, even as the man walks up to him with measured, unhurried steps. It isn't until they're practically nose to nose that Luke begins to doubt. "I  _ can _ help." Luke says, breaths ghosting over the visor of the Mand'alor's helmet. 

"You are one man. A prince."

Luke's stomach drops from him, like in the building of the Senate so long ago, but this time he straightens, fingers curling against his chest. "I-" Luke chokes back the words he wants to say, lips trembling, before he finds what he  _ can  _ say. "Am a survivor of the Battle of Yavin. The Battle of Endor.  _ I, Mand'alor,  _ am a better pilot than half the people in this room."

There are laughs, scoffs, but Luke glares resolutely into the dark glass of the visor still so close to him, and takes a step closer. Hands go to weapons, the air heavy with promise, but Luke raises his hands, letting everyone see his empty palms.

"You want me to be your enemy, but I don't want to be yours. I want-" 

"I don't care." Luke startles, chest heaving in a breath as the Mand'alor uses a hand on his chest to firmly shove him back. Luke doesn't stumble, doesn't fall, but the air breaks around them and hands fall from blasters. "We do not need you."

" _ You _ don't need me." Luke corrects even as something hot and dangerous flares from the man in front of him. Luke takes a step back, then two, before turning on his heel and doing what he seems to do so well. Leave a room silent and roiling with emotion. 

Luke has no clue where he's going, no clue where he's supposedly allowed to go, but he finds an open window and hauls himself up and out onto the sill, using the narrow ledges to monkey his way up to the top of the building. He considers going higher, trying to climb the spire, but he only wants to be closer to the sun, to stare at the light until the tears in his eyes are more from the burning of the brightness than his own foolish, trembling heart. He knew it wouldn't be easy- impossible even, but he's weak, flushed with anger and wrung out by their first exchange. 

He doesn’t like pretending not to be anyone.

It isn’t because of some misplaced sense of ego, not really, though hiding his accomplishments makes him feel small, useless. It’s the emotions he doesn’t want himself to feel- the anger, and simmering resentment of a life stolen from him had he just been someone else. Usually he can let it go, release those emotions into the force and let them be swept up in the chaotic energy of the universe, but here he  _ can’t _ . 

He’s never felt so aimlessly lost before, not since before Ben had finally taken him in and begun his training. He doesn't know how he managed before, with an arm tied behind his back. Luke only allows himself another minute on the roof before he drops back down and into the window, stopping short at the person who waits for him. Luke straightens his clothes, brushing dust from his knees as the woman in the gold helmet stands there, arms crossed and expression hidden, like all the others. 

“That was bold.” Luke snorts, brushing at his clothes again just to keep his hands moving.

“I’m going to hear an earful when I go home about political relations.” The woman appraises him, head tilting, and Luke is beginning to think that it’s a mandalorian thing. To show some kind of proof of listening, of being something behind the helmet. 

“Bold can kill you- but it can also save you.” Luke raises a brow, stomach clenching uneasily, and the woman motions for him to follow. “You impressed him. He has decided to see if you can keep up.”

“With what?”

“Mandalore.” Luke blinks at the light that floods his vision as they step back out into the street. The woman beside him doesn’t react, but the helmet must do wonders for adjusting to light and dark. “I am the Armorer. If you’ve questions I will try my best to answer.”

“I have about a million.” That garners an amused hum, and Luke follows behind as she leads him through the city. “Why the dome? What do you do? Where are we going? To name a few.”

He gets a laugh, albeit a short one, and Luke tries not to preen at having done something inoffensive. “The sands are inhospitable in the long term; the domes make it possible to live on the surface without irreparable damage.”

“From the war?” The Armorer nods beside him, falling silent for a time as they walk by a square with a fountain where children splash at the water, laughing and yelling. Luke tries not to get caught up in their happiness, but it’s as potent as a drug and Luke feels sick with holding it in. 

“To name one reason.” They leave the square quickly, as if his presence and their conversation is one unsuited for the children, and Luke tries not to let his shoulders slump when his thoughts aren’t quite so clouded. They’re deep into the city, edging out toward where the dome begins to dip when the Armorer stops in front of a small, dark house. Luke doesn’t feel anything behind the door, but the Armorer holds out her hand, an old key in her upturned palm. Luke hasn’t seen a key,  _ used _ a key ever, but there’s no lock pad on the door, only an old bolt that Luke could pop with the force in an instant. “This is to be your home while you’re here. After dinner you are expected back here, and in the morning someone will come to collect you.”

“Alone? No guards?”

“Do you need one?” Luke smiles at that, taking the key from her open palm and clutching it close. “The mess is in the center of the city, near the Spire.”

“You call it the Spire?” The Armorer nods, as if that much is obvious, and the tips of Luke’s ears warm in embarrassment. “Right, I can- I’ll be able to find my way.”

“You’re certain?” Luke nods, smiling wryly.

“You’ll find out at dinner.”

  
The Armorer appraises him again, watching him with that same silent curiosity and tilt to her head that the Mand’alor had when Luke had first set foot in the throne room and made a fool of himself. “ _Ret’urcye mhi.”_

_ “Ret’urcye mhi.” _ He mimics, grimacing when the Armorer visibly winces. She doesn’t scold him or correct him, merely turns around and disappears into the city. Luke turns, letting himself in the house before throwing the ancient bolt behind him, locking him into a house he doesn’t know. Only once he’s locked away, hidden from sight does he rip his circlet off, tossing it onto the small couch tucked in the living room as he laughs wildly. 

The happiness, the joy and pure innocence of the children in the square bubbles up in him, and he’s laughing and laughing with no way to stop, choking on his breaths and hands clutched to his chest. Each small spark of emotion chips away at him, and Luke collapses back against the door, laughs strangling into scared, anguished sobs that turn back to laughs all in one breath. Luke teeters on some unspeakable edge for far too long before he finally manages to gain some semblance of control, and he sits with his back to the door, knees drawn up as he tips his head back. 

He’s so fucked. 

Luke gives himself another thirty seconds before he shoves to his feet, moving through the house silently. The doorway opens up into the living room, and off the left side through a doorway there’s a small kitchen with a rickety dining table tucked by the lone window. There’s nothing in the fridge, and the water takes a minute to turn on, but it runs free and clear and Luke turns it off so he doesn’t waste it. Backtracking out to the living room he disappears down the hallway, poking his head into the refresher to see it’s about as basic as the ones from his time on Yavin- a sink, a toilet and a small shower, all tucked in a too tight space. The bedroom is at the end of the hall, and it’s even more crowded than the bathroom seems. They’ve somehow managed to cram a bed, a dresser and a desk in the space provided, and Luke’s trunk sits on top of his bed, seemingly untouched.

Luke doesn’t need to pop it open to feel the lingering suspicion and curiosity of whoever opened and rifled through his things. There was nothing for him to hide other than his abysmally dark clothing palette, so Luke doesn’t bother sorting through to see if anything was taken. Judging by the sun rapidly lowering in the sky and Luke’s own spacelag the days are shorter than on Coruscant- hours shorter, not mere minutes, and when Luke looks at the pitiful clock ticking on the wall parallel to his bed he’s surprised that it’s almost dinner time already. Luke doesn’t bother to change or shower, intent on roaming the city to orient himself, and on the way out he stops, eyes lingering on the circlet before he scoops it up and shoves it back on his head. It’s armor as much as the vambraces around his forearms are. 

Luke locks the door behind him before he disappears into the city, losing himself hopelessly among the houses and towering buildings. Wandering alone, losing himself like this allows his feelings to flow through him, to let his face twist in emotions too muddy for anyone to recognize. Luke finds the square again and heads the direct opposite way that he came. That leads him to a market with stalls closed down for the night, lights dark and wares tucked away. Luke itches to come back during the day, to feel the crush of the throng of people bargaining and arguing. He wants to bury himself within the crowd and come out an entirely different person.

For now though, Luke turns himself back toward the Spire, reaching out and shivering at the megawatt gathering of the dining hall. Luke can feel the air cooling rapidly around him with the setting of the sun, and by the time he’s made it he’s glad he thought to pack those cloaks. He’ll need them, if he’s ever to get a moment to himself later. 

The Armorer is sitting near the door when Luke ducks inside, and she rises to her feet even as the rest of the dining hall falls silent. Luke’s skin crawls with a thousand unseen eyes, and the urge to run or fight or both rises so fiercely within him that the lights above flicker before Luke can clamp down on the instinct. No one seems to notice, too busy glaring, and Luke notices for the first time that the Mand’alor’s cape is a deep, bloody maroon. He only notices because the Mand’alor turns at the flicker, head swiveling and stopping short at the sight of Luke in the doorway. Luke shouldn’t antagonize, but he gives a bow complete with an unnecessary flourish of his hand, laughing when he hears the Mand’alor’s scoff from across the room. 

“Bold  _ and _ stupid.” The Armorer calls, Luke looking to her and grinning, a near animal flash of his teeth. She waves him over with a disapproving shake of her head, pulling him to sit down next to her. Luke settles on the edge of the chair, knee bouncing and fingers drumming against the tabletop. A hand comes down on his from his side, trapping his fingers, and Luke recoils from the touch with a jerk, turning and glancing up into the dark expanse of the Mand’alor’s visor. 

“You’re annoying.”

“I’ve been told that.” Luke says, voice airy and eyes trapped in the gaze he can feel tracing his face. 

“I’m sure.” Luke lets out a startled laugh, disbelief written across his face, and his disbelief only mounts when the Mand’alor places a bowl in front of him, filled with steaming meat and veggies, and then moves to take the empty seat across from him and the Armorer. Luke looks to her, utterly lost, to find her leaning back in her chair, something fond softening the way she reclines. “Eat.”

Luke wants to say that he doesn't eat meat, hasn’t for a while, but the food in front of him looks too good and he’s already offended their leader enough. Luke skirts around the meat at first, sampling the vegetables instead, and quickly loses feeling in his tongue. The food is the hottest, most mouth numbingly spicy food he’s ever eaten, and Luke nearly rocks back in his chair, closing his eyes to avoid letting the tears pricking at his eyes escape. Luke hears someone begin to laugh, a low, quiet sound modulated by a helmet, and soon the whole dining hall is laughing, slapping palms on the table and very pointedly watching as Luke takes a bigger bite, and then another. 

He can’t feel his mouth or throat halfway through the bowl, but the vegetables are tender and Luke enjoys the mellow, earthy flavor that sneaks in under the heat. He’s left most of the meat in the bowl, pushing it about, and he feels curiosity peak somewhere to his right. “You don’t like it?”

“I can hardly taste it, thank you.” Luke pauses, debating, before he nudges his bowl away. “I don’t- eat meat. Not if I don’t have to.”

“And you don’t have to now?” 

“There are at least six children in here who want my portion.” Luke’s hand clenches around the bowl then, nearly shattering it, and he curses his slip up. How would he even  _ know _ that? Luke lets go of the bowl before he can break it, flexing his fingers and shoving his hands into his lap where the damage he can cause is minimal. He expects suspicion, anger, but there’s only that faint undercurrent of curiosity, of peaked interest. When Luke looks up he finds both the Mand’alor and the Armorer watching him before sharing a look, and the Armorer tilts her head before looking back at him.

“You would give your portion to them?”

Luke curses himself again for being so stupidly honest, but he hesitantly lifts a hand, nudging the bowl further away from him. “I don’t want it to go to waste. Let them have it, if they don’t mind sharing with an outsider.” 

“Hm.” Luke thinks he’s made one mistake after another, a rolling ball storming down a hill, but the Mand’alor reaches out, scooping the bowl up and rising from his seat. Sure enough he heads toward the group of children whose hunger had called to Luke and dishes out the rest of the food, head dipping as they chatter at him animatedly. Luke watches the way that the Mand’alor softens, shoulders slumping slightly, and suddenly the moment is too much for him. He murmurs an apology to the Armorer, touching her shoulder lightly before rising from his seat and ducking out of the dining hall.

He’s had enough being laughed at, stared at and generally ogled for the night. For the month, really, and Luke shoves his hands into his pockets, skirting around a group of people who are just now heading into the dining hall. Luke finds himself wandering the streets again, lost but generally knowing his way around in so far that he knows if he turns and continues vaguely east he’ll find his way back to the fountain in the square. Which he does, feet carrying himself without his say so until he’s standing, knees bumping the edge of the stone as he stares at his reflection in the water. The stars blaze behind his head, so much brighter and clearer than on Coruscant, and Luke huffs a long, slow breath. 

He reaches out with his right hand, fingers shaking, before he thinks better of it and drops his hand. It doesn’t stop his left hand from plunging into the rapidly cooling water, shattering his own reflection, ruining the image of blue eyes he doesn’t recognize staring at him. 

Luke turns away, fingers dripping wet, and disappears into the night.

\--

The prince is nothing like he expects. He’s charming, ready with an arsenal of smiles and quips and razor wit. He holds himself with such careful restraint, such tight, controlled fury that Din feels like he could drown in it. Din has never met someone who so relentlessly gets under his skin, even in his long life as a bounty hunter. So he blames suspicion as he follows him from the dining hall, watching from the shadows as the prince breaks, and breaks again before the water stills. 

\--

Luke spends his first night on Mandalore shivering in bed, buried beneath the blankets that were provided to him as well as both his cloaks. It isn't because he's cold, though the nights seem to edge on freezing without the sun and Luke hates the cold- it's because all around him the world sings, even as the city begins to slumber and Luke is left lying awake in his new bed, arms wrapped around himself. He tries desperately to sleep, to use the breathing that Yoda and Ben taught him to garner some kind of control, but there's a reason he never stays with anyone- they're just too loud. Coruscant was easy to sleep on: the electronics and speeders buffeting out energy in near concussive waves was enough to dim Luke's focus on the trillions of sparks of life on the planet, enough to make it so he could sleep peacefully for a couple hours at a time. 

But on Mandalore there's nothing to listen to beside the whisper of sweet dreams and sharp, jagged nightmares. And a cricket, sitting right outside his window, that Luke thinks about sending flying with the force before deciding that the chirping was better than any alternative. 

Luke has only been asleep for little more than an hour when a fist pounds on his door, and he rises from the bed, shuffling down the hall and through the living room, a cloak clutched tight around him to block out the lingering cold. Luke recognizes the warm, careful energy of the Armorer outside the door before he opens it, and he ignores her surprise in lieu of leaning against the door and yawning. 

"Are you- well?" Luke blinks, confused, and realizes that he probably looks a state- hair a rat's nest of tangles, dark circles under his eyes, and a cloak that seems far too large for him hiding his frame. 

"Your day and night cycles are shorter. Am I missing breakfast?"

"Yes, but…" The Armorer hesitates, something he doesn't think she's ever done before, and looks him up and down. "Have you slept, Prince? At all?" 

"I dozed." He replies, though he's not sure that counts given the disapproving shake of the helmet that gets him. "Let me get dressed."

"It would not be wise to-" Luke doesn't let her finish, holding a hand up to stop her and beckoning for her to come inside. She does so in stilted, wary steps, and Luke leaves her in the living room to wash himself quickly and dress for the day. He feels better back in his jedi clothes, though no one really knows what they are, and with the vambraces and circlet pinning his wet hair to his forehead Luke doesn't think he seems much like a jedi anymore anyway. The Armorer looks him over once before grunting something like approval, and Luke motions for her to lead the way. The sun warms Luke's chilled skin, heating through his black clothes quickly, and Luke feels himself begin to thaw. "Your diet- does it stretch to other animal products?"

"Hm?" Luke glances over, brow raised, before realizing what she said. "No, no it's- just a choice."

"Good. You'll need your strength for what is going to be thrown your way."

"And what pray tell, might that be?"

The Armorer stops outside the dining hall, folding her hands in front of her and staring. Luke mirrors her stance, staring back, and her voice is grave when she speaks. "Everything. What you can and can't handle, that is up to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ret’urcye mhi: Goodbye- literally means 'maybe we'll meet again'  
> Mand'alor- king- literally one true ruler


	4. The Proving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke insists on helping- whether the Mand'alor wants to accept it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone reading so far!! I just recently finished the final chapter, so updates may become more frequent if I get impatient!

The Mand’alor takes one look at him and gives him three days to adjust to the day and night cycle of the planet. Luke tries to object, saying he’s fought through worse than a lack of sleep, but there’s no real room for argument when the Mand’alor is done talking, and Luke is left feeling useless and frustrated as he trudges back to his house and begins to unpack. There isn’t much for him to do, and he can only fold and refold his clothes so many times before he’s endlessly bored.

Luke spends those three days meditating and orienting himself to the cadence of the city, and by the time Luke seeks the Mand’alor out again to insist that he come along to  _ something _ he’s managed to sleep in small, fitful bursts each night. The circles under his eyes are all but gone, and this time when the Mand’alor shakes his head Luke glares, crossing his arms and standing his ground. 

“I’m here to help, not sleep.”

“You’ll get shot if you don’t sleep.” The Mand’alor crosses his arms as well, head tipping to the side, and Luke rolls his eyes. 

“I  _ do _ sleep. I just don’t look nearly as pretty as the rest of you.” Luke is awake enough to notice the rise and fall of the man’s shoulders, and he smiles, quirking a brow. “I know you don’t want my help, but if I don’t do something I’m going to go insane sitting this still.”

That stops whatever the Mand’alor was going to say short, and Luke waits with bated breath to hear his reply. It’s easy to expect another rejection, but the Mand’alor gives him a hard, calculating look and huffs softly. “Can you shoot?”

“Can a womp rat squeal?” Luke grins when a surprised laugh crackles through the modulator of the Mand’alor’s helmet. Something warm settles in Luke’s muscles and he finds himself relaxing, taking a deep breath in time with the rise of the Mand’alor’s shoulders and letting it out just as slow. “So, what are we doing?”

“You’re a rebellion soldier. Let’s put those skills to use.” 

Putting his skills to use, it seems, means that Luke is given a blaster and a rifle and told to follow behind as they trudge through the sand. The sun is scorchingly hot outside of the dome, and Luke is beginning to see just why Mandalore is shrouded in mystery- With most of the planet unable to carry and support life without special infrastructure in place, it makes them an easy target. A well placed blast to the dome surrounding the city would run any chance of survival they have, and Luke begins to understand more and more why the Mand’alor distrusts him. Not out of some misguided attempt at seeming independent- but out of fear for his planet, one he’s supposed to lead.

Surprisingly, Luke isn’t the first one to lag behind, and is in fact the only one not winded when they finally rise over the crest of yet another dune to find a half charred Imperial base crawling with people. Luke drops into a low crouch nearly in sync with everyone else, and he frowns. Most if not all of the bases had been destroyed with the mandalorians first hard push with the Remnant, and this base is obviously no different- so why are there still troops? Luke glances up at the sun shining high in the sky, and then at the mandalorians all huddled together, talking in low voices in a language that Luke doesn’t understand. So much for being of help. 

“You half destroyed this one. What’s inside that they’re protecting?”

The voices cut off immediately, six different faces, including the Mand’alor’s turning toward him all at once. Luke keeps his hands from straying toward the blaster on his hip mostly out of confusion, and he raises a brow, tilting his head. 

“Water.” Luke remembers the way the faucet had taken a moment to splutter to life, the way his shower had cut off abruptly after 5 minutes. 

“They’re siphoning it.” A nod from the group, and Luke peeks up over the dune again, watching the way the guards mill about, guns held loosely in their hands. Were Luke not hiding he’d take the base out on his own, but instead he sinks back down, sand crawling into his boots, and nods. “Tell me what to do.”

The plan turns out to be simple- half of the mandalorians have long range rifles, and plan to pick off targets as quickly as possible, both to thin the herd and send them into a confused panic. The other half, Luke included, are going to use the cover of the others to get in closer. It takes less convincing than he expects to be one of the ones in the close range charge, but there he can pretend that the stormtroopers are worse shots than they are to avoid having to explain how he hasn’t gotten shot. 

“Steady.” Luke draws in a deep breath at the soft spoken warning, and he keeps his gaze firmly in front of him instead of glancing over at the gold lining the pauldron of the Mand’alor’s shoulder. They’re pressed in tight, with Luke slightly behind his shoulder to deflect blaster bolts when the fighting begins. The force bubbles up, frothing and foaming, and breaks in a vicious freefall of energy when the first shot rings out, the Mand’alor slipping over the edge of the dune with barely a word. Everyone else flows behind him, blasters raised and shots carefully conserved. 

The feeling of having a blaster back in his hand is such a strange contrast that Luke nearly forgets how to use it. It comes back to him after the first squeeze of his finger around the trigger, and he picks off trooper after trooper, aiming more for shots that will incapacitate rather than blindly kill. The shots that do kill make Luke’s skin crawl, each static lifeforce flaring for an instant before abruptly cutting short with no return- no fizzle, no fade, just a sharp pop that aches in Luke’s bones. None of those shots are ever his. 

They make it up to the half ruined building without any casualties, and Luke only has enough time to register what the Mand’alor is doing before the Darksaber sings to life, blade swallowing the scorching light of the afternoon. Luke’s heart stops for one painful instant before kicking into high gear, Luke’s knees going weak as he stumbles forward. He feels a hand on his arm, hauling him upward, and Luke chokes on a breath, pain flaring at the way the Mand’alor holds him up in one hand, Darksaber deflecting shots in the other. 

“What are you  _ doing _ ?”

"Having a moment!" Luke shouts back, half to deflect and half in desperation to be known. The Mand'alor scoffs, angry, but Luke yanks out of his grip and drops hard to the ground, a shot pinging off of the beskar vambrace still reaching for where he was. Confusion seeps to the surface, coating the back of Luke's throat, but he only pops back up, vision swimming as he fires off three shots in quick concession. " _ Go, Mand'alor." _

Luke stays tucked behind a crate while the king disappears from his side, and once he's a respectable distance away Luke shoves a hand into the sand, pouring out all the energy that had pooled in him at the Darksaber's first arrival. The ground shudders underfoot, sand shifting, and half of the already ruining building collapses further inward, covering up the rumbling as if it were the building instead of Luke's thundering pulse. Once he can breathe again, can support himself he slips back into the fray, following the path carved through soldiers and picking off the stragglers left behind. Blaster shots whizz past him close enough to nearly catch his robes on fire and Luke is slow to fire back, eyes sweeping over the sands in search of the shooter. He's exposed, alone, and very, very lucky that stormtroopers are such bad shots.

He catches up to the Mand'alor in the entryway to the building, metal doors blasted open and floor scorched. "Done with your moment?" The mandalorian asks, voice tightly strained. 

Luke laughs, nodding his head. "Never better. The controls?"

Luke raises a brow when that stops the Mand'alor short, and realization dawns on him. They don't know where the controls are, only that they're in the building somewhere, and Luke bites his lips to keep from laughing. It's ridiculous- they  _ had _ to have scouted, they must have, but came up with nothing. Luke slips into the building in front of the Mand'alor, pausing to look around a moment before shooting down the hallway to the right. He hears someone call after him, urging him to wait, but Luke doesn't. There are only a few stormtroopers left in the building to guard the secrets inside, and Luke skirts the most unstable looking parts of the floor as he ducks and weaves around the damage left by the Remnant's blast.

" _ Hey _ ." A hand clamps down on his shoulder while he's crouched in front of a panel, having ripped it from the wall to peer at the wires inside. Luke doesn't answer for a long moment, blaster on the floor beside him, and he finally glances over his shoulder as the door opens, revealing the main control room, devoid of all life.

"The best thing about Imperials," Luke says, sweeping his gaze over the length of the Mand’alor’s armor before looking at his helmet, "Is their love of order. Makes it easy to find the right room."

"How did you-" 

"I was sent for a reason." Is all Luke says in reply, straightening up and slinging his rifle across his back. His veins sing with the power thundering from the control room, but there isn't anything alive for Luke to incapacitate. 

The Mand'alor isn't so trusting- the Darksaber stays lit in his hand, a constant scraping against Luke's shields, and Luke allows him to go in first, hanging behind to stay as far from the saber and anything else that might spark a reaction. Luke watches gloved hands dance over buttons, searching for the right switch, and just as Luke is about to step up and point out the rather obvious switch in the middle of the left corner panel the king finds it, flipping it and standing in grim silence as the whole facility ambles to a stop. The Darksaber makes quick work of ruining the controls, and Luke almost mourns all the parts he could have pulled. Only once the Mand’alor decides there’s no threat does he put the darksaber away, and Luke breathes a bit easier as the sweet temptation of the dark stops whispering quite so  _ loudly. _

Luke shudders to a stop at the same time the energy leaves him, mouth opening and closing as a hand comes up to his side. It comes away sticky, covered in dark, thick blood, and he frowns in confusion. He stares at his hand, not quite understanding, and sways on his feet. He can't remember a moment in particular that he let a shot get close enough to hurt him, to draw blood, but it stains his hand and pain flares white hot over his ribs.

" _ Mand'alor _ ? I need another moment." A silver helmet turns toward him, gold flashing in the lights, and Luke has enough sense to flash his bloody palm before his knees finally give out and he goes crashing to the floor. Faintly he hears someone calling, hands jostling his cheeks and fingers pressing to his throat, but the touch burns and Luke recoils, protests on his lips. “Stop, stop I’m fine-”

Fingers dip, digging into his ribs, and Luke arches away from the pain, mouth opening in a gasp. “Really?” 

“Really.” Luke grinds out, shoving the Mand’alor’s hands away from him and struggling to his feet. He’s not allowed to get far, a hand brushing lightly across his lower back, and panic flares in Luke, so sudden and alarming that he bats the hands that are trying to help away from him. “I said I’m  _ fine. _ ”

“I don’t  _ care. _ You’re two steps away from falling through the floor.” Luke looks down, and sure enough he’s edging dangerously close to a large fissure gouged into the floor. Luke takes a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it out, allowing the Mand’alor’s arm to snake around his hips to guide him through the building and back out into the bone white sands. The fighting has petered off, the remaining troopers corralled by two of the snipers, and Luke temporarily sags in the other man’s grip when his feet hit sand and something in his side tears, sending a fresh wave of blood soaking into his clothes. 

“You can put me down.” The man’s arm drops away from Luke all at once and Luke’s hand shoots out to catch his pauldron, a strangled noise escaping him as he finds the strength to stand. “You’re not very gentle.”

“You told me to put you down.” He points out, and Luke supposes he  _ did _ ask. Luke clamps a hand over his side to staunch some of the bleeding, grimacing at the way his muscles burn. Already Luke feels weaker than he’d like, but he stands resolutely by the Mand’alor’s side as the king speaks. “How many casualties?”

“None on our side, unless the prince is about to volunteer.”

“Not a chance.” The group of mandalorians laugh, and for the first time he thinks it’s more at his joke instead of at him personally. 

“Sure you’ll survive the walk back?” Luke doesn’t let his smile drop, but his side already aches fiercely and he can’t imagine how much sand is going to be in his wounds by the time he gets back to the city. He only manages a small shrug as if to say ‘ _ who knows?’ _ before the pain distracts him again. 

He blacks out twice on the way back, once from his side pulling when he took a dune too quickly and the second time from blood loss. He wakes up shambling on his feet each time though, and counts his blessings that no one seems to notice his lapses in attention to their rambling. It isn't like he can understand them anyway, since they seem to slip into Mando’a without a second thought to him being there. There are a couple words that Luke knows:  _ Mand’alor _ , and  _ beskar’gam _ , which Luke was told before he came here is how they referred to their armor. The second word though, only seems to be used whenever they look at him, and Luke can infer by the haughty lilt to their voices and subdued amusement that they’re making fun of his lack of armor. 

He doesn’t let it bother him.

He doesn’t let their laughs and their careless elbows in his side annoy him, and he certainly doesn’t snarl at them like a wounded animal when a well placed elbow smashes into his hand, digging his fingers into the wound on his side. He doesn't hear them stop, shocked, as he stalks into the city and sinks into the shadows of the late afternoon, leaving the group behind so that he can hide away in his temporary house and lick his metaphorical wounds. 

His shirt, surprisingly enough, isn’t a total loss, and once he rinses the blood from it he figures he can stitch the side closed and use it until it rips again. The wound on his side is another story- It isn’t anything more than a graze, but there’s sand and dirt and who knows what else crusted in it, and Luke doesn’t have any bacta patches to pretend he didn’t heal himself. He’s gotten the wound pretty much clean when a knock sounds on his door, and he keeps the washcloth pressed to his side when he cracks it open just enough to glance at whoever is. 

He nearly slams the door when he sees the first flash of gold, but he just squints instead, voice wary. “ _ Mand’alor _ .”

“Prince.” Luke stands there for an obtuse moment before jolting, swinging the door open wider and jerking his head back toward the living room. The Mand’alor takes the invitation without a word, slipping inside and lingering in the doorway as Luke shuts the door behind him. “How’s your side?”

“Fine. Just a graze.” Luke pads into the living room where there’s more light, and turns to show him the nasty shallow groove dug out just over his ribs. “Did you come here just to check on me?”

“You didn’t stop by the medbay.” 

“I figured I’d be better off here after the twelfth elbow in my side.” His voice is sharper than he means it to be, bitter and laced with anger, and Luke draws in a long, slow breath before letting it out, shaking his head and pressing the washcloth back to his side. “I appreciate you taking time from your busy schedule to check on me, but like I said at the base, I’m fine.” 

“Then you  _ don’t _ want these?” The Mand’alor flashes a small pouch, and when Luke raises an eyebrow he elaborates. “Bacta patches. For the wound.”

“I didn’t say that.” Luke says, reaching out to try and snag the package from the other man’s hand. He pulls back, keeping just out of reach, and Luke rolls his eyes, dropping his hand to rest it on his hip instead. “I’m not going to beg for the bacta patches  _ you _ brought me.” 

“Might be interesting if you did.” Luke laughs, unable to believe that this is his life right now, and he sighs heavily.

“I’ve never begged a day in my life,  _ Mand’alor _ , and I’m not going to start today. You can give them to me out of some chivalrous need for kindness or you can leave.” He expects the Mand’alor to grow irritated, but the armored man only chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down Luke’s spine. 

Luke stands his ground as the Mand’alor takes a few steps closer, and he realizes quite suddenly that not only is he shorter, he’s standing shirtless in front of the person he’s supposed to by impressing. If he were more ashamed of the scars twisting across his chest or the way he looked he might cover up, but instead he holds his hand out again, smiling when the other man presses the bacta patches into his palm, lingering for a moment before taking a polite step back. 

“Don’t come to the dining hall tonight. Take the night to heal.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Do you want to be laughed at every time you eat?” Luke’s sullen silence brings something warm to the metallic voice coming from the helmet, and Luke knows he’s smiling. “Take your meals here, when you can. Or toughen up. That’s an option too.”

“Careful  _ Mand’alor, _ or I’ll think you care.” Another low chuckle is all he gets before he’s left alone in his living room, clutching a washcloth to his side and thumb sweeping over the pack of bacta patches so graciously brought to him. 

Luke has hardly gotten himself settled for the night when the Armorer brings him dinner. The bacta patch on his side makes his skin tingle instead of burn, and his pain is minimal when he ushers her inside, taking the bowl from her hands and steepling his fingers around the ceramic to take in the warmth. Luke is wrapped once again in one of his heavier cloaks, but the Armorer doesn't comment on it, just settles herself on the couch while Luke paces the length of the room, digging hungrily into his bowl. It’s still just as spicy as yesterday, but there’s no meat, and is instead boosted by some kind of coarse grain that pops under his teeth, releasing a slight bitterness that melds with the spice. 

It’s warm and hearty and Luke’s too hungry to let the significance of them having listened to him stop him from eating. The Armorer watches him while he eats, eying him critically. “You don’t wear armor in your armies?”

“I’m a pilot. The ship is my armor.” That causes the Armorer to hum thoughtfully, leaving him in silence to scarf down a few more bites before he speaks again. “Almost no one wears armor like you, and those who do have a reason to.”

“And you don’t?” 

Luke smiles wistfully, shaking his head slowly. “No, not anymore. Maybe once, when I was younger. The closest I get now is my flight suit, when I choose to wear it.”

“What exactly do you do for your Republic? Truthfully?”

“Truthfully?” Luke mulls that over, choosing the words he wants to say carefully and laying them out before him like a puzzle. “I clean up messes, and I look pretty on camera.”

“You enjoy that?” Luke’s smile dims, and he glances down at the bowl in his hands, shrugging before looking up at the Armorer. He wants to tell her no, to tell her just how much he hates the fact that instead of starting his order, of finding others like him and helping them, he’s stuck on Coruscant, pandering to people he doesn't care about. Cleaning up messes that have nothing to do with him and hoping that someday, someday they’ll let him go long enough to do his own work. Instead, he says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Looking good on camera is easy.” It’s a weak deflection, but one that the Armorer allows, and Luke is grateful. She’s digging too close to a place he can’t go, won’t stray into. “Thank you, for dinner.”

“You didn’t cry this time.”

“Oh for the love of- you’re as bad as the  _ Mand’alor _ . Some people want to  _ taste _ something other than hot.”

“Some people are wrong.” Luke scoffs, waving a hand at the Armorer as she laughs softly. She rises from the couch, holding a hand out for his bowl, and he lets her take it, lingering a moment.

“What we did today, at the Imperial base. It’ll help with the water shortage, right?”

The Armorer pauses, shoulders tightening before they relax, and Luke gets a single nod. “We must ration and recycle what we can, but yes. It will help.”

“Good. I don’t want to see your people suffer.”

“Is that what the Republic has asked of you?”

“No. They sent me to placate you.” It’s far closer to the truth than he should admit, but Luke can’t find it in himself to lie. “But I’ve never been able to sit still. Not if I can do something, like I did today by taking a blaster shot to the side.”

The last part is purely in jest, but the Armorer glances at his side and nods her head slowly, like him being wounded is something significant instead of a stupid blunder. “That’s noble of you, Prince.”

“Luke.” He blurts, before he can think better of it. “You can call me Luke, if you want. Prince works too, but-”

“ _ Ret’urcye mhi,  _ Luke. _ ” _

_ “Ret’urcye mhi.” _

“Better. Awful, but I believe we can work on that.” Luke’s answering grin is bright enough to blind even a dewback, and when he lays down in bed that night, unable to sleep but wanting desperately to, he thinks about the Armorer, and the hand she’s extending to draw him in. He thinks about the Mand’alor, silent and judgemental and far too funny for his own good, even when he isn’t trying to be. They’re two sides of the same odd coin, hidden and secretive yet open with the affections they show their people and fiercely proud of who they are.

He wants fiercely to be able to look at himself, to see himself standing beside others and not wish to be someone else. He wants to recognize the face that stares at him in the mirror as someone good, someone worth  _ more _ . Hope flares so wildly within him then that he finds himself slipping from bed, dressing in the warmest clothes he can before disappearing out the front door of his house. He doesn't bother to lock the door behind him, instead sweeping out into the streets with only one thought of wanting to get some air. 

The sleeping forms of all the city's residents in the southern edge of the dome press on Luke like a weight, and he pads through the streets and out the southern gate, feet sinking into sand as he walks away. He wanders in a random direction for a while even as his toes begin to go numb, breaths puffing out in front of him when Luke dips into the shadow of a dune, lingering in that cold until his fingers prickle with the lack of heat and he’s left shivering. Once he’s well out of sight of any prying eyes he sits cross legged in the sand, and allows the force to flow up and into him, sweeping harmlessly through him and taking any negative emotions with it. He sits in the desert, breathing and listening to the whispers of a thousand dead souls writhing in the sands alone, and allows the force to hollow him out.


	5. The Seclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke is beginning to grow used to Mandalore- even as Mandalore pushes against him.

He’s making progress. At least, that’s what he tells himself when he collapses into bed each night, aching and sore and so exhausted that sleep leaves him entirely. It’s what he thinks whenever a child passes by him, waving shyly instead of bolting away from him in fear. He’s been on Mandalore for what he guesses must be something just over a month now, given that their days are six hours shorter than Coruscant’s. 

Despite the time he’s spent on the planet, Luke still doesn't sleep. He rests fitfully, dozing on his couch or in the speeder on the way to a scouting mission or even up in space while they’re flying straight to the other side of the planet. But he doesn’t sleep at night, and spends most nights out in the desert, staring at Concordia, imagining that he can see the ruined cities dotting the surface. More times than not someone has found him in the desert, curled up in his cloak and face flushed by heat. If he’s not home in the morning for breakfast with the Armorer she leaves out the southern gate, following whatever tracks he’s left behind until she finds him, fast asleep. 

Sometimes, it isn’t the Armorer that finds him. Sometimes it’s the Mand’alor himself, footfalls silent in the sand. Luke wakes to his presence more and more as of late, eyes blinking open, throat parched as he takes in the sight of Mandalore’s mighty king baking under the morning sun of his home. Luke is slow to wake, bleary eyed and shoulders slick with sweat when he shrugs off the cloak, leaving it in the sand as he stands, stretching himself out and searching for something in the sand. He never says anything, Luke’s captive audience, just gathers Luke’s cloak up and takes whatever small trinket that Luke has found in the sand. Luke likes the simple acceptance: the gifts are usually a stone, or an old shell, or a bit of metal that has no meaning to Luke but seems to mean the world to the king. He always tucks it into a small pouch on his belt, holds out Luke’s cloak, and walks him back into the city before his shoulders can burn under the sun. 

Luke likes a lot of things about the elusive king. He likes the way that the children, foundling or not, flock to his side, bursting with questions and admiration that he takes in equal measure. He likes that he no longer laughs when Luke trudges into the dining hall, shaking sand from his hair in the morning, or when another mandalorian tries to trip him when he comes in for dinner. He especially likes that there’s always a bowl of food waiting for him, pushed toward him as soon as he’s sat himself beside the Armorer and slipping his circlet off to set it on the table. He hasn’t stopped wearing it during the day since he first landed, and taking it off in front of others, letting them see the way his hair flips wildly when not held down, is a vulnerability he wants to share. 

He knows that some mandalorians like the Mand'alor follow an older creed, a stricter version that keeps their helmets on at all times when in someone’s company. Then there are the others, like sweet Yiana, who comes bounding over whenever Luke shows up, slipping her helmet off and leaving it on a random table to leap into his arms. It feels something like a betrayal to hug her, to let the little force sensitive child become so attached, but she’s unaware of just why they connect so well and Luke doesn’t have the heart to break her spirit. Perhaps in another month, when he’s sure of his place, of being accepted here he’ll tell them, tell them all and hope they don’t kill him. He hoists her up into his arms, ignoring the way that her training armor digs into his sides, and listens intently as she tells him all about her day, about what her  _ buir _ told her to do when facing an enemy bigger than her. 

Despite it all, the Armorer’s quiet, steady companionship, the Mand’alor’s acceptance of him, Yiana’s love shining like a beacon whenever she smiles, Luke feels alone. 

It’s a feeling that’s eaten at him, picked and ripped and left gaping, bleeding holes in his heart when he thought too long about anything. The squad he’s been assigned to for scouting missions is excellent, skilled and efficient, but Luke watches from the outside in at the way they clap each other on the shoulder, at the way they wrestle and jeer at each other after a successful mission. He listens to them talk in a language he can’t grasp, even when he can feel the jist of what they’re communicating to each other. Envy- jealousy- whatever someone much more adjusted than Luke would call it rages in him at each word murmured in Mando’a, at each closed door he meets when he wants so desperately to be part of something more. 

It’s that feeling, green and sprawling inside him that leads him to their archives, that plasters him to book after book, pouring through the content he can read and translating what he can’t. The language they’ve built over a millenia of coming together, of cultures clashing and merging into one uniform entity, is beautiful. Luke sees the stars in the soft words, the way they abbreviate and flow from one word to the next, falling from their lips like water over a cliff. He has no clue if he’s allowed to be in their archives, pouring over their books, but when the Mand’alor finds him one morning a month in, curled in one of the armchairs by the window, book clutched to his chest, he doesn't scold him. He just takes the book, puts it back on the shelf, and pulls out a different one for Luke to read instead. 

Luke reads each one that the king recommends, whether he ends up liking it or not, whether he can decipher some of the more obscure words or not. Reading Mando’a, listening to it, that Luke understands. But writing it? Putting his own spiraling thoughts into their words? He loses himself in the grammatical nonsense of when to put an apostrophe or when it’s supposed to be a different word completely. He only speaks it, lets the words scramble on his lips in the safety of his house with the Armorer curled up on the couch, correcting him until he’s pretty sure she’s doing it just to mess him up. Through it all Luke works and works and works at being enough. At being the best shooter he can, at being a part of his squad, at being more  _ and _ less than Luke Skywalker. 

He’s sat in the square, letting children tug on his clothes and nearly tip him back into the fountain one morning when the Mand’alor approaches him. Something is different in him, a hesitance that carries in the hard set of his shoulders.

“ _ Mand’alor _ , how nice of you to join us. Gavri here was just about to challenge me to a foot race. Care to join?” Said child grins up at his king, nodding eagerly and standing on the edge of the fountain to reach and touch the signet on the king's pauldron. People seem to do it constantly, though Luke is never sure why, and he’s never felt drawn to do it himself. 

“Not today.” Luke looks toward the kids, raising his brows and laughing when they boo at their king. Luke is still grinning when the Mand’alor holds a hand out, and his glove is warm and soft when Luke takes it without hesitating. He allows himself to be hauled to his feet, and his smile dims faintly, brow knotting. 

“What is it?”

“There’s a call for you.” Luke’s stomach gutters, fingers tightening around the Mand’alor’s before he remembers himself and lets go. Luke motions for him to lead the way, and Luke trails him through the city, heading for the Spire and the call that awaits him. Nerves coil and fray in his gut, making his hands shake and his fingers twitch as they ascend the steps up into the building. Luke hasn’t talked to anyone outside of the people of Mandalore since he was set adrift here, and Luke doesn’t know who he should be expecting. 

He slips into the room and for the second time today he witnesses the Mand’alor hesitate. Like he wants to come in, endlessly nosy, but wants to give him privacy too. Luke grabs his wrist, dragging him into the room, and gestures for him to stay out of sight. Best case scenario it’s one of the senators he tolerates, worst case it’s the senator that sent him away in the first place. Luke stands in front of the long distance relay, tucking his hands behind his back and standing straight as the connection flickers to life at his presence. 

“Luke?” 

Luke’s knees nearly give out at the voice that crackles in the quiet of the room, and he stares, wide eyed as the image of his sister flickers to life. “Leia.” He breathes, voice breaking on a sob that he chokes back.

“Luke, thank the  _ stars _ \- I thought- you said you would  _ call _ .” 

“If I was able to- I- I’ve been so-” Luke doesn’t know what he could possibly say to make it okay, so instead he falls silent, drinking in the sight of his sister’s dark hair, pulled back into elaborate braids that he could never hope to replicate, eyes sparkling with the twilight that’s dancing behind her. “Are you okay? Is the Senate- are they upset?”

“I’m fine, the Senate is fine- you haven’t come back in a body bag and that’s better than they expected.” Luke laughs, eyes flicking briefly over to the Mand’alor, but his visor is turned away, as if unwilling to eavesdrop on their conversation. Affection swells in him then, at being allowed this moment, and Luke looks back to see Leia watching him, eyes searching his face. “You aren’t sleeping.”

“Why does everyone say that? Do I really look that bad?”

“How long?” 

“Long enough.” he says, defensive, and Leia huffs out a sound somewhere mixed between a scoff and a scold. “Did you really call just to ask about my sleeping habits?”

“No, I called to make sure you were taking care of yourself, which I’m still not convinced you’re doing.” Luke sticks his tongue out and grabs a chair, drawing it a bit closer so Leia can see him as he sits cross legged in it. “How are you? Really?”

“How am I?” Luke drums his fingers on his thighs, thinking, and then shrugs his shoulders. “I’m fine.”

“Luke.” He almost doesn’t recognize the sound of his own name. It’s so startling, so surreal to think that no one other than the Armorer has called him by his name in the months since he’d gotten here. “ _ Luke _ .”

He draws his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees, and allows his tears to drip down his cheeks at the sound of her voice. “The nights are cold here. Reminds me of Hoth. Makes my arm hurt. I’m- tired. But I can’t sleep, no matter how tight I close my eyes or hold my breath or walk until I can’t feel my legs.”

“Oh, Luke.” 

“I miss my ship. I miss you, and I miss Han, and even Chewie when he’s quiet. I miss-” He can’t choke back the sob that breaks loose from his chest this time, and he presses a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, shoulders shaking. It takes him a very long, morose moment to recollect himself. “I miss food that doesn’t make my mouth hurt.”

Leia laughs despite the somber mood, and Luke finds himself stuck wildly between wanting to laugh with her and wanting to cry. “I miss those stupid little pastries that they sell in the sublevel markets- I miss arguing with the Senate, I miss Yavin, and I miss  _ me _ .”

The last thought is what shatters Luke the most, and he lurches forward, ending the call before she can see the way his body wracks with sobs, before she can see the empty, bottomless pit of his heart that he’s been trying so hopelessly to crawl out of. Luke stands here, hand on the relay, tears splashing onto the dusty ground until a hand touches his shoulder, light and hesitant. His head whips up, vision blurry with tears, but it’s only the Mand’alor- Luke forgot he was in the room, but suddenly he’s the only person that Luke wants to see, and the beskar of his armor is hard and unyielding but Luke hugs him anyway. He digs his fingers into the red cloak hanging down the king’s back and sobs when a hand buries in his hair, tucking him closer and holding him tight. 

It’s wildly uncomfortable and Luke feels like an idiot, but he doesn’t dare move out of the circle of the Mand’alor’s arms lest he falls apart all over again. His tears have mostly quieted by the time that he feels the hand slip from his hair, dropping to his shoulder to urge him back enough that Luke can see that he's being stared at.

“You can go home. If you want to. I won’t- force you to stay.”

“You aren’t. You’ve never forced me to do anything. Well, except maybe go on a couple missions instead of finishing my  _ meshgeroya  _ match.” Luke's smile is weak and watery, and he takes a step away, scrubbing his cheek with a hand and ignoring the way that the Mand'alor's hand lingers on his elbow. "I like being here. I- haven't felt this content in a long time."

Once the words are out, bared to the Mand'alor for him to weigh, Luke realizes they're true. For as much as he longs to be a part of their community he feels- at peace. He's never been further from the Force yet so intimately aware of its effects on his everyday life, and it's given him an appreciation for the little training he was given. 

"Is this what content looks like?"

"Oh definitely." Luke can feel his heart slowing to something resembling a normal rhythm, and he straightens out his clothes, taking another step back to put more space between them. He doesn't want the other man to think he's shying away, but he's aware he's overstepped some kind of boundary tonight and he doesn't know what it's going to change. "Thank you, for letting me talk to her."

"You're welcome to use the relay again."

"Really?" The Mand'alor nods, tilting his head as if that much should be obvious, and Luke finds himself smiling at the familiar gesture. "You'd better set a limit, or I'll talk on it endlessly."

"You can use it once a week. For an hour."

"Any hour I choose?"

"I agree with your sister. You need to sleep more, so I shouldn't see you here past nine."

"But if you don't see me…" Luke laughs when the Mand'alor reaches out to swat at his shoulder, and he rubs the spot lightly as if he's actually hurt. "Fine, fine. I won't come here at night, but I can't promise anything about sleep."

"What keeps you awake?"

"What keeps  _ you _ awake?" Luke parrots instead, leaning his weight on one leg as he waits to see what the Mand'alor will say. 

"I worry that I'm not doing enough." Luke's easy smile drops completely, and he listens, shocked, as the king confides in him. "I didn't want this. I just- wanted to go home. But this is supposed to be home."

"Does it not feel that way?"

"No. Not always. Some small part of me remembers the heat and the sand, but… I was young." Luke can feel the melancholy that hangs on the king, heavy around his shoulders, and he reaches out to take his hand without thinking, linking their fingers together and staring at the orange fingers of his gloves contrasting against the black of Luke's. The Mand'alor is the one to reach out with his other hand, urging Luke close until the smooth metal of his helmet can rest on Luke's shoulder. "You avoided the question."

"Just thinking." Luke replies, though he absolutely was avoiding it. Luke feels more comfortable with the king leaning on him, unable to see the way Luke's lips tremble when he talks. "I don't know who I am, most days. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I see myself when I was twelve, podracing through the canyon on Tatooine. Other days- a stranger with my face stares back at me."

Luke's words taste like ash in his mouth, but the modulated hum that the king releases shakes through him and he swallows hard. "It might not feel like home to you,  _ Mand'alor _ , but… it felt like home when I stepped off the ship, and I haven't experienced that in- years."

"It can be. Your home, I mean." The offer is weak and flimsy but Luke squeezes the Mand'alor's hand, holding tight to that nugget of belonging. 

"I'd like that, someday. To have a home." 

Luke thinks about the Mand’alor’s offer for a week after that. Luke begins to think that maybe this little house, tucked away by the edge of the dome, far from the Spire with its old key can be his. It already looks like his house- his room is a mess, the living room filled with drawings from Yiana and furniture pushed and shoved until Luke was satisfied. He’s running low on all the soaps that he brought from Coruscant, but Luke knows he can get more from the market, albeit at exuberant prices. If he had his ship he would just go get it himself, but he doesn’t and it’s not like he can take one of the scouting ships to go on an excursion for luxuries. 

Luke finds himself busier and busier lately, and with it, seeing the Mand’alor less and less. He wants to ask him about the books he recommends, ask him about what it was like growing up far away from Mandalore but hearing ghost stories. Every time he tries to seek him out, manages to snag a moment alone he hardly gets one question out before they’re being pulled in two opposite directions again. It frustrates Luke to no end, and his own frustrations come boiling to a head in the dining hall one night when Luke comes in and is immediately tripped yet again. It had been something to laugh about the first couple of times, but the scouting mission had gone sideways and Luke’s head is pounding from the lack of sleep and he hardly manages to keep himself from falling flat on his face.

He whirls on his heel, fists clenching, and bites out. “You are not  _ six _ \- keep your feet to your damn self.” 

“And what if I don’t?” The air around Luke crackles faintly, charged with energy, and Luke stands his ground even as the much larger mandalorian comes to stand toe to toe with him. “What is a Republic brat going to do about it?”

Luke doesn’t blame himself for what happens next- he hardly controls the way his right hand comes up, metallic fingers straight and strong as he jabs viciously at the soft exposed dip of the man’s throat, sending him coughing and spluttering as Luke shoves him back with his other hand. There’s a ringing in his ears, a screeching and panicked shouting, but he’s stepping on the mandalorian’s leg and yanking the other one up into his hands, twisting until the ankle joint pops uncomfortably and the warrior underneath him squirms.

“Leave me  _ alone. _ ” He hardly recognizes his voice, but that isn’t anything unusual and Luke stands there, waiting. He’s still waiting, breath held, when someone slams into his back, and then it’s a free for all of limbs and punches and vicious pains that make Luke cry out and dig fingers into soft necks or elbows into fragile ribs. Luke isn’t nearly as good at hand to hand combat as he is with his saber or a blaster or his ship, but he manages somehow to hold his own until finally a voice cuts through the haze of anger and pain.

“ _ Enough. _ ” Luke jerks to a stop, someone’s glove fisted in his shirt and his own hand raised, and he stumbles back when he’s suddenly released. He forces his hands to his side, chest rising and falling with uneven, choppy breaths as he stares at the Mand’alor. His vision is tinted red and pink on one side, and no matter how much Luke blinks it doesn’t go away. 

His hand comes up, bumping over his face, and he winces, hands jerking away when he feels the odd angle of his nose and the tenderness around his eye. His nose throbs in time with his heart as he calms down, and he doesn’t fight as someone takes him by the elbow, leading him out of the dining hall and toward the medbay. His head and face are pounding by the time he makes it there, and Luke stumbles past a couple of mandalorians lingering by the counter, led blindly into a room and pushed onto a cot. He doesn’t lay back, since blood is still dripping down onto his shirt and he doesn’t want to choke on it, but he allows his shoulders to slump. 

The Mand’alor looks odd overlaid by hazy reds and pinks, but Luke manages a weak smile as a stack of gauze is passed his way and subsequently pressed under his nose. “Are you proud of yourself?”

Luke laughs wetly, patting the cot, and doesn’t speak until the Mand’alor sinks onto the cot beside him, sitting on the edge as Luke bumps their shoulders together. “ _ He _ started it. I was only doing what everyone else does.”

“And what would that be?”

“Solving my problems with violence.” The king laughs, shaking his head, and Luke turns to look at him in all his pink glory. He pauses for a minute, sighing before admitting softly, “I might have gotten a bit carried away.”

“Trust me, you look worse than they do.” 

“Punching metal doesn't do nearly as much as punching flesh, I’ve found out.” They laugh together quietly for a moment before the pain of doing so causes Luke to fall silent, and he rests, thinking, before he speaks again. “I don’t think I ever told you, and I know you heard it before, with the call, but my name is Luke. I want you to know that.”

“Luke.” He shudders when he hears his own name, soft spoken and brimming with something through the modulator, and Luke can tell the king is on the edge of saying something back when a medic sweeps into the room. She takes one look at him, frowning, before she steps up, standing between his legs as she tilts his chin back. 

“You’re the one who started the brawl in the dining hall?”

“Would  _ I _ start a fight?” Luke hears a snort behind him, but the Mand’alor doesn’t say anything thankfully. Not that Luke could pay attention at the moment, because his eyes cross and a crack rumbles through his brain as she takes his nose in hand and snaps it back into place. Luke blacks out for a minute, slumping back, and when he comes to he's leaning back against a wall of beskar as bacta cream is smeared along the bridge of his nose. His skin tingles with the minty cooling effect and Luke closes his injured eye to let her work it into the bruises there too. 

"Nothing for your eye itself, I'm afraid. You'll have to wait for the blood to fade."

"I've handled worse. Thank you." 

The medic frowns again before pressing a tube of bacta cream into his palm and waving for him to get out of her room. Luke doesn't wait for her to ask again, hoisting himself up off the cot and tipping forward dangerously as his head spins. The Mand'alor is at his side in an instant, steadying him, and Luke reaches to pat the hand holding his elbow before pushing out of the room. 

It's easier to focus his eyes and keep his feet moving once he's outside, letting the cooling breeze of the evening sweep over his still throbbing face. Their walk back to his house is silent, edged with wariness, and Luke opens the door, turning to pause with his hand on the knob. He raises a brow, patient as ever as the Mand'alor lingers behind him, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. " _ Mand'alor? _ Did you want to come inside?"

"... Yes." Luke chuckles quietly, reaching out to snag the other man's wrist and haul him in. He doesn't offer any resistance, and Luke starts tugging at his own shirt immediately, peeling the bloody front away from him. He listens as the Mand'alor's breath hitches at the smear of blood left on Luke's chest, but Luke doesn't pay it any mind, shrugging out of the shirt and disappearing down the hallway. He rinses his shirt in the sink as best he can before wiping at his skin with a washcloth, feeling majorly sticky. Once he's free of blood for the most part he pads back out into the living room, snagging his robe and wrapping it around himself. 

Luke jerks his head toward the couch, sitting with his feet tucked under him as Din occupies the other end, back straight and shoulders tense. "So, did I do any damage tonight? How's my reputation?"

"Near war." The king deadpans, turning his head to pin Luke with a look that makes his stomach wobble pleasantly. "Might have to ship you home."

"Good luck with that. I don't think they want me anymore than you do." Luke means it as a joke, but his heart pangs as he feigns nonchalance, leaning his head into his hand and carefully avoiding bumping his nose or eye at all. 

"Luke," said man hums inquisitively, noise cutting off abruptly when gloved fingers smooth over the skin of his collarbone. Luke feels and doesn't feel the touch, chest tingling and sparking with pain and going numb all in one. It only gets worse when the shoulder of his robe is nudged down, and Luke finds his hands coming up to loosen the ties, slipping his arm out as the Mand'alor's palm flattens across the dense webbing of white scars ratcheting along his chest. "What happened?"

Luke trembles with the gentle, reverent touches of the Mand'alor tracing his scars, and something hot and wanting and weak flares in his chest. "The Battle of Endor. I-" Luke cuts off, frustrated with just how much he can't say, all because of the Senate.

"You don't have to explain, if you don't want to."

"I do,  _ stars _ I do it's just-" the Mand'alor shushes him softly, touching him for a moment more before he reluctantly pulls back and allows Luke to slip his arm back into the robe and cinch the ties tight. "It nearly killed me, and I- don't like to think about it."

"Do they hurt?" 

"The scars?" The Mand'alor's head dips in a nod and Luke pauses, hand drifting down to idly smooth along his collarbone. "Only in the cold. The nerves- they don't fire the way they're supposed to anymore, so sometimes they don't react right. Sometimes, when someone touches me, I know it's supposed to feel good... but it only itches, or hurts, or doesn't do anything at all."

"Did you feel me touching?" 

"Yes." Luke whispers, hand stilling over his heart and lips curling in a small smile. "My nerves like you,  _ Mand'alor. _ I've never felt numb."

"Din."

"Hm?" Luke blinks, confused, and stares as the Mand'alor's hands twist nervously in his lap. 

"My name is Din." Luke's head swims- he can't help it, the way his heart beats wildly at the blind  _ trust _ the Mand'alor- Din- is giving him. He doesn't deserve it, this warmth, but Luke is too weak to stop himself from saying the name just to feel the way his lips shape it. 

"Hi, Din."

"Hi." Luke's ears ring with the sound of his name, and it keeps him awake most of that night, long after Din has left to go back home. Luke has just gotten to sleep by the time the sun creeps over the horizon, and he curls up in the patch of sunlight that shines onto the couch from the kitchen. He'd positioned the couch in exactly this spot on purpose so that he could have a place to warm himself, and his muscles feel loose and slippery with the heat of the sun on him. Luke stays stubbornly on the couch for another twenty minutes before he finally forces himself to get up and shower and take care of his nose, dressing in a lighter, tan outfit instead of his normal black. He can tell just by the warmth of the house that it's going to be hot today, and he doesn't need himself overheating as he slips out of his house, taking off at a light jog. 

He might not train with the mandalorians, might not be able to fight like they do, but Luke is fast and agile and he refuses to let that slip away from him by getting lazy. He jogs through the city, breathing through his mouth since his nose has swelled spectacularly, and feels lighter than he has in weeks. He loops his way through the city, following the streets around and back in on himself until he’s sweaty and out of breath when he finally reaches the Spire. Leia is expecting his call when he rings, and he flinches when she yells.

“ _ Luke _ , what the hell happened to your  _ face _ ?”

“I had a disagreement.”

“You look like you ate pavement. Stars, is your eye  _ red? _ ”

“There are a couple of popped blood vessels. It’ll heal in a few days.” Luke laughs, reaching up to gingerly touch his nose. “I’m fine, Lee, really.”

“You aren’t getting threatened?”

“Well actually-” Luke bursts out laughing at the horrified expression that twists Leia’s face, and he waves his hands. “No, sorry, that’s mean. Rebuilding is going slow, but it’s going. They’re a strong people, Lee, it makes me wish that this is how the Order could be.”

“What’s stopping it from being that way? It’s yours now.” 

“That… Is a good point. Oh Lee, you’re the best, I have to go! Love you!”

“I love you too, be safe-!” Luke hangs up the call and books it from the room, making a beeline for the archives. Why  _ can’t  _ he shape the Order the way he wants to? What’s stopping him from making the Order over completely in a way that makes sense? In a way that teaches about the balance and danger within the force while  _ not _ hindering attachments? Luke wonders just how different the Order would have been, how different his  _ father _ would have been if he’d been allowed to love, to care for his children and grieve his wife properly. 

There are tomes that he hasn’t dared to touch yet, old, half crumbling books that are in a dialect of mando’a that Luke can’t translate yet. He knows they hold ancient history, times when the mandalorian creed was different, and he finds himself holding one, eyes skimming over the words without understanding a thing. The Armorer finds him there, staring hard at the book with his brow furrowed. “Why are you staring so hard?”

“I don’t understand what it says, but- I want to understand more about how your culture formed.”

“Why?”

Luke pauses, glancing up from the book, biting at the insides of his lips nervously. “People say that because of your Creed, your helmets and armor that you’re- restricted. Confined. But this planet, the people who live here, they’re the fiercest fighters, with unbreakable bonds and strong spirits- you love without constraint and there’s nothing wrong with that, nothing shameful about it. It makes me wonder what you guys did right. What the rest of us did wrong.”

The Armorer watches him, silent for a long, tense moment before she comes over, using a gentle touch to close the book and take it from his hands. “Our history is passed through our people. If you want to know,  _ truly  _ know us, then you would do well to ask, and to listen.”

“Will you tell me? About your history?” 

“Yes, Luke. I will.” 

Luke sits in the armchair in the Archives, the Armorer sat on the windowsill, and listens as she recounts her story. From her childhood, a time before she looked through tinted lenses, to when she overtook the forge, became more than herself, allowed herself to be the Armorer and nothing more. The forge and her expertise means everything to the mandalorians, and so  _ she  _ means everything. It explains her place at Din’s side, at the way that people stop and turn to listen, to take in her words and hold them close. Luke wonders if anyone reaches for him in that same way, hanging on the words he chooses to say, eager to follow him.


	6. The Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke is set adrift yet anchored, and certain ghosts seek to remind him of his duty.

Luke spends his time asking people questions when they'll listen. The children are all too eager to talk about themselves and their family and what their parents told them, and Luke is happy to listen. Yiana talks about how her parents want to increase her training, since she's already so light on her feet and good with a staff, and Luke's heart soars. She's a lucky one, he can tell, with the force flowing and eddying around her, making her steps lighter, movements faster. He can only imagine what she would do when trained. The adults of the city don't like to talk as much, especially not when he asks about their families and their training and what makes them love the Creed the way they do. But he's genuine, curious for curiosity's sake, so when people see Din talk to him, answering the more light hearted questions and telling him to ask the others later in private, they begin to talk.

Luke learns that many of them take the Creed to mean different things- they all love and speak the language, they all wear their armor, but  _ how _ they wear it, or the dialect they speak? That varies so wildly from person to person that despite their togetherness Luke can recognize each and every person who decides to talk to him. He sees the little quirks of how they wear their armor a little looser than others, their thigh plates a bit smaller to decrease sound or upper arms encased in an extra piece others forgo. He recognizes the markings and dents on their helmets and chest plates, and it makes him feel like he’s part of something. 

His scouting party has taken a liking to him. 

He hadn’t thought that the fight in the dining hall would endear him in any way, but his busted nose and bloody eye had proved something to them that Luke didn’t expect. Luke is pacing the length of the ship, strung up on the adrenaline of the fight and itching to do anything other than be stuck in the hull of a ship rocketing back toward the city. He’s sore and sweaty and in need of a good bath from the fight, but the blaster shot he did end up having to take pinged off his vambrace, and his arm is only mildly painful. He can hear bits and pieces of his squads conversation, snippets of Mando’a that he can half understand, but as usual, he isn’t part of their after fight revelry. He’s been more okay with it lately, having heard some of their stories, and he doesn’t feel quite so alone knowing their histories.

“Hey, Republic.” Luke stops, turning toward the voice, and finds his squad leader, a beefy Mandalorian in navy armor staring at him. He faintly remembers the armor in the brawl, but he has no clue if it’s because he hit him or the Mandalorian joined in. It doesn't really matter either way, he supposes.

“You know it’s  _ New _ Republic, Paz.”

“You fight old school.” Luke doesn't have an argument for that, but he raises a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Do I?”

“No one goes for the throat the way you do anymore.” Luke laughs, flexing the fingers of his right hand, before drumming a rhythm on his bicep. 

“That’s about the only place I  _ can _ go for.” Paz snorts, but it evolves into a chuckle and an amused shake of his head. His hand comes down heavy on Luke’s shoulder, and Luke lets Paz lead him through the ship toward where the others are sitting atop crates, playing some kind of game that involves a board and long, thin knives. The thunking of their blades sinking deep into the wood is low and rhythmic, and Luke feels sleep tugging at him immediately. “You aren’t going to make me the next board, right?”

“Well that’s an idea.” A mando in green chimes in, laughing at Luke’s nervous shuffling. “Nah, we’re tired of watching you pace. Wanna learn how to play?”

Luke pauses, staring between them and then the board and back to them- it feels fake, their offer, but they wait for his answer and Luke can’t help his grin when he sits down on a crate and says, “Don’t go easy on me.”

The game is an odd mix between darts, chess and something that the group insists is called ludo. The rules are odd and overlapping and every time that Luke thinks he gets a handle on what he’s supposed to do and not do, someone laughs, points out that he just lost, and yanks the blades from the board again. Luke is warm and happy by the time that they relax, and his knife throwing skills have improved tremendously just by throwing in a ship that’s constantly moving at a very small, very cluttered board. Paz gives him pointers, opting not to play in lieu of letting Luke learn, and he’s reluctant to leave the ship when they land. 

But as always, he has duties to attend to, like going to the debriefing with the rest of his group, though he never talks, and lingering behind to see if he can snag a moment of Din’s attention. They speak Basic for the debriefing, thankfully, and when asked about any injuries all heads swivel to him. Luke blinks, focusing back in on the conversation, and finds Din watching him quietly, head tipped to the side and posture tense.

“Why is everyone looking at me?”

“You were hurt?” Luke scoffs, shaking his head, and frowns over at Paz- Tattletale. Paz waves back at him, fluttering his fingers mockingly, and Luke scowls. 

“The blaster shot hit my vambrace, which you can see is still intact.” Luke reaches up, undoing the buckles and slipping the dented metal from his arm. He rolls his sleeve up just to prove a point, but there’s a bruise purpling on his arm and Luke makes a noise of surprise in his throat. “Well, the bone isn’t broken at least.”

“Someone needs beskar.” Luke snorts, glancing up at Paz to see him holding his own arm up, showing off his vambrace. 

“Willing to trade?” Paz coughs suddenly, and the room goes silent all at once. Luke looks between them confused, and something like unease and embarrassment flutters in the air around them. “What? Have I just threatened you or something?”

"You'll have to take me to dinner first, Republic." Luke frowns, unsure of whether he's supposed to laugh or not, and Din heaves a sigh, touching the forehead of his helmet.

Din nods his head toward the door and Paz and the others leave without another word, leaving Luke flabbergasted in the throne room. 

  
“You’re starting to freak me out.”

“You aren’t in trouble.” Din reassures, even though Luke very much feels like he is. Din waves for Luke to come closer, and Din's voice is soft, careful when he speaks. "Do you have feelings for Paz?"

"Excuse me?" He sees Din's shoulders tense and he hurries to soften his words. "I'm not- it isn't that he's a man, I-"

"Luke." Luke stops short, cheeks red, and he glances down when Din takes his hand, thumb smoothing gently over his knuckles. Luke wonders at the casual contact, letting his fingers curl around Din's hand. "When mandalorians want to marry, they offer their vambrace."

"Oh.  _ Oh _ . Well, that's  _ extremely _ embarrassing, you can send me home now-"

Din laughs quietly and Luke's heart gives a traitorous leap. "You've been asking people about their armor and families incessantly, but no one ever told you about trading vambraces?"

"Obviously not, or I wouldn't have  _ proposed to Paz. _ " Luke can feel his face absolutely burning with embarrassment, and he's glad his face is still muddy with fading bruises- though they might just bring out the redness of his cheeks and neck. Luke draws his hand back to rub the back of his neck, thoroughly ashamed and embarrassed. "He's never going to let me live that down."

"Definitely not." Din agrees, snickering when Luke groans and fixes his sleeve, securing his vambrace again. Din watches him work, and Luke feels something faintly like relief drift off of Din. "Do you think of marriage?"

Luke looks up, eyes wide, and he's stuck between wanting to be brutally honest and having to lie. He decides to straddle the line as best he can. "Yes. I want someone to love me, someday, to be able to say I belong, but…"

"But?"

"My duties keep me from… forming attachments. I was taught that we weren't supposed to, that it was a distraction." He's edging dangerously close to just telling Din, but the thought of Leia, of being able to rebuild the Order keeps him silent. "I've never thought it was right. As your culture, your  _ people _ prove to me more and more, love isn't a weakness. And I want that same kind of strength you all have." 

Din stares at him, and Luke, foolish, stubborn Luke, is able to recognize the thoughtful turn of his head, the inquisitive set to his shoulders. "I think," Din says carefully, "that is a sad, lonely way to live."

"I do too." He admits, tracing over the dent in his vambrace and looking out the window instead of at the gold shining on Din's chestpiece. 

\--

Luke was absolutely mortified. When he walked into the dining hall that night Paz had taken one look at him, laughed and called, “wifey!” while waving, seated at the table with Din and the Armorer watching him. Luke had tried to keep his blush from rising to the surface, but it was a lost cause, because Paz was the one to slide his food over to him with a murmured “Here, darling,” and Luke didn’t know how to respond past a mumbled thanks.

He just dug into the vegetables and what Luke was told was some kind of grain, hoping that the heat of the food would be excuse enough, but Luke was surprised to find that his mouth didn’t burn nearly as badly as it did before. “New cook?” 

“Too spicy?” Paz teases, Luke rolling his eyes and kicking at his shin under the table. The armor on his boots prevents any actual pain, but Luke isn’t going for pain, and Paz snickers at the tap. 

“It’s not hot enough.” Luke says instead, much to the confusion and delight of the mandalorians sitting at the table with him. Luke finishes his food in record time and with hardly a sweat, setting his empty bowl down and drumming his fingers on the table in front of him. He sees all three heads turn down toward the noise, one side a soft, muted patter and the other a sharper, more dissonant sound. Luke stops, raising a brow, and it’s the Armorer that asks.

“How did you lose it?”

Luke hums, removing his vambrace and tugging the glove up and off his hand. He holds it up so that they can see the faintly translucent synthetic skin that covers the dark metal beneath. His hand looks surprisingly normal, all things considered, and he allows the Armorer to take his hand, leaning closer to peer curiously at the whirring mechanics within. It almost looks like Luke had taken a strong flashlight and lit it under his hand, each metallic finger strong and unbroken beneath the skin. 

“During one of my first fights with the Rebellion.”

“The craftsmanship is impressive. Does it ever jam?”

“It used to, before the join was healed enough to allow a skin over it. I spent some time working out the major kinks in some of the gears here,” Luke reaches over, tracing a spot in the palm where there’s been obvious tinkering. “To help with the grip adjustment. It took a lot of fine tuning until it felt more like a hand than a machine.”

The Armorer spends another few minutes observing before she lets him go, and Luke reaches out, spreading his fingers wide and letting Paz and Din peer curiously at it. Once they’ve had long enough to look Luke slips his glove back on and reaffixes his vambrace, relaxing back into his chair with a sigh. Both Paz and Din seem fit to bursting with questions, and Luke rolls his eyes. “You can ask, but I’m not going to answer anything I don’t want to. Deal?”

He gets twin nods, but Din only sits back, hands folded in front of him while Paz leans forward, staring as Luke pulls his hand back to put his glove and vambrace back on. “Do you have sensation?”

“It’s connected to the nerves in my arm here, so I can feel when someone holds it or touches it. The more layers I have the harder it gets to feel- the synthetic skin isn’t as responsive as my regular skin.” Luke gestures to where the prosthetic begins and his arm ends, just past the wrist joint. 

“Is it stronger?”

“Almost four times as strong as my left.” Paz whistles appreciatively, though the sound warps through the helmet and sounds more like a whine. “It took almost six months and the reworking of the wiring and gears for me to stop shattering every cup or bowl or plate I picked up.” 

“Have you used it to fight before?” 

“I’m right handed.” Luke says wryly, smirking. “Why do you think I led with my right hand when I went for Red’s throat?”

“Oh, you  _ have _ to do that to a couple Imps.” 

“Yeah?” Luke laughs at Paz’s enthusiasm, and he silently puffs up at the attention. Losing his hand had felt like the worst thing in the world to him at first- He was clumsy and childlike when doing anything with his left, and his right had been in so much pain after the nerves in the prosthetic were attached he hadn’t hardly been able to use it. But now, after the work he’d done to fix it and the training he’d gone through to write and hold a cup and feed himself again? Luke took pride in his recovery, even the bad days, when his wrist flared with pain and each grip was like a vice squeezing on his nerves. 

“Can you take the skin off?”

Luke wrinkles his nose at the question immediately, sighing. “I can, but I’m  _ not _ going to show you. It takes a  _ lot _ of wiggling and lube to get it back on and I’m not rested enough to attempt it.” 

There’s a beat of stunned silence before Paz bursts out laughing, and Luke laughs with him, grinning and wiggling his fingers when Paz stops, glances at his hand, and laughs again. Luke is happy and loose and maybe that’s why when Din looks at him, his own laugh softly carrying through the room, Luke winks, raising a brow suggestively. 

Din’s laughter only grows, but there’s a note of warmth in his laugh that makes Luke’s mind go fuzzy. Paz bombards him with a few more questions, most of which Luke declines to answer, and by the time they push away from the table to head home for the night Luke feels like he could actually sleep. Din walks him home like he has for the past three weeks, and Luke offers to let him inside, but Din touches his shoulder lightly instead and shakes his head. 

“Sleep tonight, Luke.”

“I sleep every night.” Luke says, but the lie is weak and bitter on his tongue. Din seems to know, because he squeezes Luke’s shoulder a bit tighter. 

“For more than an hour.” Luke grimaces dramatically, glancing down at his bare wrist. 

“I’m pretty busy, I don’t know…” Din snorts, and Luke can imagine the way he frowns, so Luke smiles softly and reaches up to lay his hand over Din’s. “I’ll try, okay? But only because you asked so nicely.”

Din laughs at that, because he certainly was  _ not _ asking, and Luke gives Din’s hand a little squeeze before he disappears inside, watching as Din heads back to his own home for the night. Luke closes and locks his door and goes about his nightly routine. Luke doesn’t let himself focus on much of anything really, half heartedly brushing his teeth and washing up before crawling under the plethora of blankets on his bed. A bed which has hardly been touched since he got here.

He ‘s plenty warm under the blankets at least, so his chest doesn’t ache as he curls up, laying his head on his pillow and closing his eyes. He expects to lay there for hours until he finally forces himself out of bed, but sleep drags at him, and when he thinks about the game on the ship, the thunking of the wood and the happiness he’d felt he finds himself sinking into a deep sleep. 

_ His masters come to him in his dreams,-Yoda admonishing, Obi-Wan worried, but Luke can’t hear their words- he can only watch their mouths moving, bodies shifting in and out of focus as Luke’s grasp on the force slips. He reaches out to them, needing their strength, but the hand that takes his isn’t either of theirs- He follows the arm to its owner, and Luke stares at the dark, sad eyes of his father, at the way his brow furrows just slightly.  _

_ “Anakin.” Luke says, and the sad, resigned look softens.  _

_ “You’re far from the force, Luke. What happened?” _

_ “Nothing- I can’t use it, not where I am now. The Senate-” _

_ “They don’t control you, Luke. Don’t let the connection fade.”  _

_ “I won’t,” Luke protests, but his father’s blue visage is already fading. Luke struggles to speak, to hold on to the hand in his, to tell him that he would never just walk away, leave the force behind- Anakin’s eyes are sad again, and Luke is left feeling hollow and alone in the wake of the realization that he  _ would _ leave it behind. _

When Luke wakes up his nose is two inches from scraping the ceiling, and the books and trinkets he had on the desk are floating with him. Luke hangs there, suspended in zero gravity, until he can steady the jackrabbit breathing of his heart and get a firm grasp on the force. He lowers himself, the furniture and everything else back down to the floor, using a sweep of his hand to return everything to where it belongs. It’s such a saccharine relief to use the force to right everything that Luke finds himself reaching out with it again, opening one of his books and flipping through the pages with small twitches of his fingers, closing it again and then opening the drawers of the dresser to rifle through his clothes. 

Luke gets dressed in a flurry of energy, grabbing his robe and shrugging it on as he books it from his house. His feet fly over the ground, hardly touching, but no one in the world is awake to see him even as he goes bounding over the sand, slipping and rolling down dunes until he’s out of breath and humming with power. He finds a good spot and reaches out, feeling all of the little stones and shells and drawing them all to him. He keeps them floating while he draws up more, and each tiny spark of focus, of material orbiting him makes the force stretch thinner and thinner, until finally the vast well of power that had been simmering since he got here is all but a puddle, and Luke uses the last dregs of it to send all the pieces back where they belong, buried under the sand for someone else to find someday. 

Once he’s exhausted and weak but in tune with the force again he sinks into a meditative trance, folding his legs and tucking his hands into his sleeves. He allows his mind to wander, to enjoy the faint buzz of life around him, and he’s just begun to drift off again when the force brushes against him, curious and childlike. Luke smiles, reaching out, and the force surges into him, happy and bright and full of wonder at the same time that Luke feels a little hand on his knee. His eyes fly open at the touch and he glances down to see a small green child wrapped in a little brown cloak. The force radiates off him so strongly that Luke's vision temporarily goes blurry, unable to keep up with the onslaught.

“How did you get here, little one?” The child glances up at him, small face dominated by huge brown eyes, and reaches up with both hands. Luke scoops him up without a thought, letting little hands touch his cheeks as his eyes shut. The child speaks to him through the force with broad, vivid images and sweeping feelings, and Luke finds himself smiling at the purity of the connection. “It’s nice to meet you, Grogu.” He says, and the name resonates within him, as clear as Luke’s own. Luke knows his name isn’t used much, if at all, because the child gurgles happily and pats his cheek, excited for his name to be said. Exhaustion seeps into Luke’s bones, and he knows that it isn’t his- not fully, and Luke pets along a large ear, tucking Grogu more comfortably into his arms as he rocks the child slowly. 

He’s surprisingly warm and a very loud breather, and Luke is so at peace with the child close, the force bubbling around him that he doesn’t immediately hear the shifting of the sand. By the time he opens his eyes there’s a warm, happy coo of  _ buir _ in his mind and he opens his eyes to find Din standing in front of him. Luke smiles automatically, sleepy, and quirks a brow.

“Is it morning already?”

Din doesn't reply for a long, long time, staring, and the warmth steals from Luke completely when Din pulls his blaster and presses it to Luke’s forehead in one smooth movement. Luke's whole body locks up, eyes widening, and he finds his mouth is suddenly terribly dry. "Give him to me."

Luke doesn't move for a second before jerking up to his feet, tucking the sleeping child into the crook of Din's free arm. Din cradles him to his chest protectively and Luke feels the warm happy contentment that lulls Grogu back to sleep, at war with the fear and anxiety hardening in his veins. "Din? What’s going on?" His voice shakes with the question, and he raises his hands slowly. The barrel of the blaster is cold against his forehead and the fury radiating from Din makes Luke's jaw ache from how hard he's clenching it to keep his teeth from chattering. 

"How did you get him?"

"The- the child? He found  _ me. _ "

"All the way in the desert?" Din's thumb moves, brushing over the safety, and terror claws its way up into Luke's throat. Luke sees himself from a different view, blaster to his forehead and hands raised, and he looks very much like the prince they wanted him to be. Weak, unable to help himself in any kind of fight. " _ Why _ did you take him?"

"I didn't! Stars, Din  _ please _ \- I wouldn't- I don't even know where you  _ live _ , let alone that you had a  _ child _ ."

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you."

"It's a good thing I'm not playing!" Luke's voice comes out shrill and high with panic, and his whole body has begun to shake. "I couldn't sleep so I came here and then he was in my lap and- Din please put the blaster away, you're  _ scaring _ me."

Luke has always prided himself on his calm demeanor, but here, standing in the sands of a foreign planet with the most powerful person in the system pointing a gun to his head, that illusion shatters. Luke feels tears streak down his cheeks, scalding hot against the chill on his skin, and Din starts at the sight. He jerks away abruptly, shoving his blaster back into the holster at his hip and taking two steps back. Luke watches, shaking like a leaf, until Din turns and leaves him there, and once the sight of Din's red cloak is drowned by the rising dawn of the sun Luke's legs give out and he sinks to his knees, sobbing. 

He wraps his arms around himself, fingers digging into ribs, and tries to breathe past the panic bubbling up in his throat. He tries to breathe, but his sobs and broken cries wrap like brambles around his lungs and he’s dangerously close to passing out. Each breath rakes out of him like glass in his lungs, and Luke tips forward, hands burying in the sand. He’s trembling so hard that sand cascades down the small hill, piling in the dip at the bottom. Luke clenches his hands around fistfuls of sand, needing something, anything to latch on to, and when it finally becomes too much, when he can’t hold himself in anymore he screams, and screams again, louder and louder until his voice gives out completely and he’s beating his fists in the sand instead.

He stays in the sand until the sun is scorching through his robes and he’s slick with sweat, shaking now from exhaustion and heat stroke more than anything else. He isn’t sure how he manages it, but somehow in the haze of dehydration and disassociation he staggers his way back into the city, under the protective curve of the dome. He makes it back to his house, face flushed red and pupils wide, and he can hardly get the door open before he’s collapsing onto the floor, coughing and weakly rising up onto his hands. There are hands under his arms, hauling him into the house, and Luke looks up into the golden reflection of the Armorer’s helmet. Luke sags into her grip, letting her manhandle him onto the couch, but once he’s inside where no one can see him he shoves her hands away. 

“Go.” He croaks, hardly able to say a word.

“Luke, what  _ happened? _ You didn’t come to breakfast, and neither did-”

“GO!” Luke cries, voice breaking, head lolling uselessly, and he faintly feels her shock, her hurt before she does as he says, lingering by the door for a moment before slipping out and letting the door shut with a soft click of the latch. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to update on tuesdays AND fridays, in the effort to not take half the year to release all the chapters <3


	7. The Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Din must deal with the aftermath- and Luke has to contend with a child's curiosity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a HUGE thank you to everyone who has commented, you guys are amazingly sweet and I wish I had time to properly reply to you all!

It takes Luke a week to recover from sunstroke on his own- he’s weak and half delirious every time he stands to get more water, and he’s flushed with fever for two days. He sleeps more than he ever has, in short, static moments of silence where his body forces him to shut down. He hardly remembers the dreams that haunt him, or how long he’s been asleep, but every time he wakes up to the same glint of silver, the same cold, hard press of steel against his skin. 

Luke stops sleeping entirely after that. 

He gets himself by on brief meditative trances, where Anakin hovers over his shoulder like a silent protector, trying to tell him that it’ll be okay. That it would be better, easier for them to understand if they know. He tries his best to cut those thoughts out of his head entirely, to pretend that Anakin doesn’t have a point. If he were here truthfully, not as a prince but as a Jedi Master maybe Din wouldn’t have-

Luke rips that thought out by the roots and burns it. 

He knows why Din did what he did, and he isn’t mad. Really, he wishes that he  _ could  _ be mad, because anger is so much easier to feel than the cold, pulsing fear and dread that haunts him now. Meals show up at his doorstep like clockwork every day, once in the morning, once at night, but the food tastes like dirt in his mouth and he leaves them half eaten on the mat by the door. The half eaten bowls are always, always taken and returned, and Luke wonders who would bother. 

It’s after that week of meditating, allowing himself to recover and generally kicking himself that he showers, dresses, and heads down to the dining hall. He doesn’t feel any better emotionally, but he knows hiding has never done anything for him besides drive him up the wall, and he’s tired of Anakin’s constant reassurances that it will be alright. Luke wonders distantly if he’ll be attacked on sight, or if anyone even knows. They have to, because when he passes by the fountain the children stop, staring after him, and only Yiana offers a shy, hesitant wave. Luke flashes her a small, sad smile, and continues on his way. He has one goal in mind, and he’d left early to stop whoever was bringing his meals, but by the time he’s standing in front of the dining hall he’s lost his breath completely. 

He’s battered by the amount of  _ life _ behind the door, and it takes him a long, quiet moment of panic before he ducks through the door. Luke glances around the room as he enters, allowing his eyes to adjust, and all around him the din of the room clatters to an abrupt, sharp stop. Luke’s skin crawls at the eyes that roam over him, the awful, grating waves of distrust and disgust and  _ anger _ . Luke can hardly keep his eyes from dropping to the floor just to break one form of connection, but he steps further into the room, hopping neatly over a foot stuck out to trip him and ducking away from a hand meant to grab him. 

He dances through the room that way, dodging hands and feet and elbows and even one person entirely, heart pounding all the while. He makes it back to where the food is served and snags a bowl before it can be yanked from him, hardly caring what’s in it. He’s not going to eat it anyway, but the intention, the careful view of him being here is what he was going for. Luke’s dance only grows more frenzied once he’s taken a bowl, and Luke is breathing hard, eyes wet, when he stops in the doorway, searching. His heart stops completely and then stutters back to life when he catches sight of Din and the Armorer watching him, a little green child sat on the table playing with an empty bowl. Luke watches his little green hands, jerks when those wide brown eyes find his and something sweet and warm washes over him.

Luke flees to the Spire with the feeling of eyes burning through him.

It’s the only place that’s public yet private he can think of going, and Luke hasn’t called his sister in far too long and he knows she’s worried. He can feel it as acutely as he feels the blood rushing through his fingers, and there’s no one guarding the relay so Luke drags a chair up and calls. He knows she’s probably in a meeting, unable to answer, so when the call rings through unanswered Luke tries not to let it gut him as much as it does. Luke sits there, bowl clutched in hand, and looks down at the mess of food, debating if he really wants to eat it. He sets the bowl on the table nearby, unable to even stomach the thought of it when the relay chimes with an incoming call. Luke reaches forward, pressing the answer button, and has to bite back a cry when he sees Leia and Han crowded around her desk, peering anxiously into the screen. 

“I  _ told _ you he was fine. Well- physically-  _ shit  _ kid, what the hell happened?” Luke reaches up to touch his face, as if the bruises are still present, but they’re long since faded and Luke doesn’t know what they see. “Kid? Luke?”

“Give him a minute.” He hears Leia admonish, and he stares sightlessly at the photograph of him and Han on the rebel base, Han’s hair longer than it ever was and Luke decked out in orange. It tugs at something viciously in him, and Luke wonders how much more he can take.

“I’m fine.” His voice rings hollow even to him, but he cracks a smile anyway, just to reassure them. “I’m sorry I didn’t call last week, Lee, time kind of got away from me.”

“What were you doing?”

“Ah, a scouting mission went a little sideways, and I had to take some time. I pulled a muscle in my leg, could hardly walk.” 

He wonders just when he became such a good liar, because Leia’s shoulders slump and Han rubs her back soothingly. They don’t ask anything else about why he didn’t call, why the bags under his eyes are so present, though Leia’s worry never really goes away fully. He asks them about what’s going on, asks for all the news and details that he can wring out of them, and only once his hour is up does he let his facade drop as he says goodbye. He lets them think it’s because of the goodbye, that he’s reluctant to leave them, and he is, but he can tell that Leia sees him for what he is. A ghost. Luke lingers with his hand on the relay, breathing in and out a few times before he hears a noise behind him: the soft scrape of a pauldron against stone. 

He looks up, unsure of what he’s expecting, but Din isn’t one of the possibilities. Luke takes one look at him, at the line of his body and the slope of his shoulders, and breaks briefly into stunned tears. He whirls around immediately, feeling stupid, and goes to grab his untouched bowl, intent on bringing it back even as stupid as it is that he took it in the first place. His fingers close around the bowl, right hand shaking, and Luke releases a sharp, shuddering breath when the bowl shatters in his grip. He hears Din jerk forward, as if to help, and fury rises in Luke, overpowering any lingering fear or sadness. This time the tears that sting his eyes are hot with anger as he snaps. Oh, oh maybe he  _ is _ angry after all- Luke's voice trembles with his rage

“Do  _ not _ come over here,  _ Mand’alor _ , or I am likely to do something I will regret.”

“Is that a threat? Is that how you want this to be?”

“I am  _ not _ the one who held a live blaster to their friend’s  _ head. _ ” Luke looks up then, and he’s angry, so vividly, painfully angry that seeing the shock that colors the set of Din’s shoulders is too much. Luke storms forward before he can stop himself, fingers curling under the edge of Din’s chestplate to hold him still. “I am not the one,  _ Mand’alor _ , that decided in one instant that any bit of trust, any friendship we might have had was better off at the end of a barrel.”

“You had my son.” Din says, voice tight, and Luke’s fingers dig so deep into the beskar that he hears it groan before he lets go, breathing hard. “In the middle of the night, with no one around. How am I supposed to take that?”

“I-” Luke cuts off, gritting his teeth, and he reaches up, raking a hand through his hair. He didn’t even bother with the circlet, didn’t bother doing anything to make himself seem regal. His anger drains our of him at the stark reminder of the situation, about the impossibility of him explaining. Eventually, all he can think to say is, “I didn’t sneak into your house and take him. I don’t know how he got out there, but I woke up from a nightmare and-”

“You slept?” Of all the questions Luke expects, the accusations, that isn’t one of them. 

“ _ Yes _ I slept. I slept because I was exhausted, and you asked me to, and I was  _ happy _ .” 

“Are you sleeping now?” Luke gives Din a hard, flat look, and Din visibly shrinks back.

“No.” Luke doesn't bother to clean up the mess of food and porcelain, shoving past Din and pausing in the door. He speaks over his shoulder, not quite looking enough to see Din fully, but catching the metallic sheen that bounces off his armor. "I have enough nightmares without you becoming one of them."

\--

_ Without you becoming one of them _ .

Din has never, ever cared for what people thought of him. But the very mention, very thought of being what keeps him up at night? At what causes those awful bags under his eyes, that listless, far off look he got when his body stagnated? Din's chest aches with the thought of being even a small reason for the agony Luke must experience.

\--

Luke is grounded by Paz that same day when he goes to see what he's supposed to do. He expects it, really, was waiting for it to happen, but it still  _ hurts _ to watch the rest of his squad load up and get ready to go on a scouting mission he could have helped with. Luke finds himself in the middle of the city, perched atop a wall while the ship that he should be on takes off, face tipped to the sky and eyes blurry. He doesn't cry, not for them and not for himself. He's out of tears, and all Luke feels now is a ringing, hollow emptiness that rattles in his rib cage where he knows his heart is. 

Luke stays sitting on the wall for a long, long time, wondering what would happen if he went home. If he called it quits here, and told the Senate that Mandalore was a lost cause. But he knows what would happen- Mandalore was already holding on by a thread, unable to grow their own food outside of what the greenhouses could make, and most of their food came from other planets. Giving up, telling the Senate exactly what they want to hear would doom the planet, and doom the people that Luke has grown to admire. He takes careful hold of the thought, looks at it once more, and releases it to the force, letting calm wash over him and clear his muddied thoughts. His anger still coils behind his eyes, a snake ready with all the venom Luke never uses, but Luke can see through the bars of the cage to the outside. He sees Din's fear for his child, for the only other person in the universe to wear a mudhorn stitched into the edge of his clothes. 

He wishes he didn't see it, so he could still be mad, but anger doesn't suit a Jedi- and that's what Luke is. Not a prince, not a rebellion commander, but a Jedi. A Jedi who was given a mission to woo the people of Mandalore, a mission he intends to see to the end. It might be more difficult now, with Din openly distrustful and half the city hating his guts, but Luke can be patient. After all, the play doesn't end until the curtains fall, and Luke isn't giving up on his performance yet. Luke can play the prince for a while longer, if it means he can help the people here as well as the people back home. 

Luke has his eyes closed, face tipped to soak in the sun when Grogu reaches out for him. He tries not to let his reaction show, keeping himself carefully still and face blank, but when he peeks an eye open Din is walking the path underneath him, Grogu in his arms and all his attention on the little child. Luke stares down at them even as Grogu reaches for him, and when Din looks up to see what's caught Grogu's attention the only thing he sees is the tail end of Luke's robes. 

Luke avoids letting Grogu get too close to him again. He can pretend not to feel the way that Grogu calls out to him when there's careful distance between them, and Luke gives plenty. When Din is in the square watching Grogu play with the other kids Luke shuts himself away in his house. When Luke briefly dips into the dining hall to pretend to eat he avoids Din’s table entirely. When Din comes knocking on his door one night, sorrow and regret soaking the air around him, Luke crawls out of his window and disappears into the desert. When he feels Grogu call out in his sleep, asking for something that Luke can't give without revealing himself Luke tells him to be patient and ignores the images of Din tucking Grogu into bed he sends every night. As if to show Luke how good of a father Din is, how much he cares for his son. 

Luke has never doubted that Din is a good person, not even when he had a blaster to his head and Din's anger warming him. It’s hard to stay mad at him when all of his waking thoughts are filled with how Din sings Grogu to sleep, or how he works around the floating toys and catches Grogu when he tries to crawl off the bed. How he rocks Grogu when he’s had a long day, even if he’s near asleep on his feet. Grogu's own insistence that Din is good only makes Luke’s resolve to stay mad at him, to distance himself harder, and when Din is the one to deliver his food one night, lingering by the door, Luke yanks it open, glaring at him.

“I’m still mad at you.” He says, and Din shudders. “Come in.” 

Din hesitates before stepping inside, and Luke takes the food from him, setting it on the coffee table in the living room, next to a glass of water that looks like it hasn’t been touched in days. Luke doesn’t sit down and neither does Din, but before too long Din is talking, stilted and choppy but gaining speed. 

“I don’t want to give you excuses. You were right, you- I shouldn’t have drawn my blaster. I should have trusted you.”

“Yes, you should have.” Luke pauses, thinking, and he reaches out, taking hold of Din’s wrist and tugging him to sit down on the couch. He lets him go as soon as they’re sitting down, keeping a respectable distance between the two of them. He still isn’t quite comfortable enough to hold Din’s hands. “I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t know how he got there. Or that I don’t know where you live.”

“I know- but it didn’t- doesn’t make sense.” 

“He’s  _ never _ disappeared before?” Din’s head ducks slightly, as if chastised, and Luke huffs out a quiet laugh. He lingers, letting himself feel something other than anger or bitter fear at Din. It’s surprisingly easy to look past what happened, and Luke wonders if he’s actually okay or just pretending. If he just wants to be okay so that he can have someone to lean on again. “Din, what you did was the second scariest experience I’ve ever had.”

“Only the second?” Luke smiles despite himself, but it falls quickly and Luke reaches over to grab the bowl of food. He has no appetite, but Din visibly relaxes when Luke begins to eat, and he tastes the spice a bit more than he did before- actually, he tastes it a lot, and he sniffles as the heat hits the back of his throat. Din’s head tips to the side, scrutinizing him, but Luke takes another bite, and then another, suddenly ravenous. “Luke, I’m sorry.”

“I understand why you did it. It doesn’t mean I approve of you pointing a blaster at me, though.” Luke says, and Din shakes his head automatically to deny that Luke understands. That it’s okay. “I’m not going to braid your hair anytime soon,, but I understand. I  _ do _ .”

Din gives a strangled laugh, the sound choking off in his throat with what Luke expects is a sob. Luke wars inside himself between wanting to comfort him and knowing he shouldn’t, so instead he polishes off the food in his bowl and holds it out for Din to take. He latches onto the task instantly, wanting to be useful, and Luke nudges his knee. Din rises from the couch, shifting from foot to foot and clutching the bowl in his hands. 

“Will you come to breakfast tomorrow?”

“Maybe. Will you be upset if I don't?” Din shakes his head instantly, and Luke watches the way the gold on his helmet flashes in the sun coming through the window. “I need time, I think.”

“Okay.” Luke sees Din’s shoulders slump, hears the soft sigh that he breathes out through his modulator, and Luke leans back on the couch. “Can I- join you, sometimes?”

“I’ll come to you.”

“You don’t know where I live.” Din points out, and Luke hums softly, corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. He raises a brow, tilts his head, and Din sighs, telling him how to get there from the Spire. He’s closer to the heart of the city than Luke expects, but he’s not sure why it surprises him. Maybe because Din is probably the most private person Luke knows- He hadn’t expected to get anywhere with Din, not in a way that would make them seem like friends, but Luke knew his name, and he knew that wasn’t something Din gave out lightly. Even the Armorer didn’t call him by his name, though Luke suspected that was more out of respect to his title than anything. But the last time Luke had called Din  _ Mand’alor  _ on instinct, before their fight in the Spire, before the desert, Din had paused, looked at him and softly said, “Din. Not  _ Mand’alor. _ ” 

Luke’s stomach had gone wobbly at the sound of his voice, at the quiet insistence of an intimacy that few shared with Din. 

Luke doesn’t go to his house that next morning, or the morning after that, still mulling over how he feels, and he’s so split that the next time he meditates Anakin is waiting for him, inches from his face. Luke only blinks, raising a brow, and waves a hand through his father’s blue tinged form. 

“You’re being a nuisance.”

“ _ You’re being indecisive.” _

“Thank you for that, really. Father of the year.” Anakin sighs heavily, regret lining the wrinkles around his mouth. “Are you happy? We talked.”

“ _ If you want something, Luke, then go after it.” _

“That’s exactly the  _ opposite _ of what I’m supposed to do. A Jedi does not covet, and all that.” Luke frowns at the amusement on his fathers face, sighing heavily. “I don’t even know what I want. I can’t- get close to  _ him _ without getting close to his son, and getting close to his son is dangerous.”

_ “Because you’ll be found out?” _ Luke nods, and Anakin drums his fingers on his knee, thinking. It’s odd to see his father this way, hair long, eyes dark instead of glowing gold, dressed in traditional jedi robes and lacking the machinery that kept him alive. Luke can recognize himself in the set of his shoulders, in the mischievous sparkle in his eyes and headstrong determination to run  _ toward _ his feelings instead of away. “ _ What if you were to tell him now? In private?” _

“I can’t. I was given a direct order  _ not _ to reveal the fact that I'm a jedi."

" _ And you want to prove that you can follow orders." _ Luke nods, glancing down at his hands. There was a lot that Luke had done in the rebellion, directly disobeying orders that had shaped his life, and now? Now, Luke wants someone to tell him what to do for a while, so he doesn't have to think past completing his task. But the more he thinks, the more he rests in Anakin's silent encouraging presence, the more the thought of what Luke  _ wants _ rises to the surface. 

He wants Din. He wants to get to know him, to ask him questions and actually get an answer, something more than a yes or no. He wants to be able to reach out and touch him and have Din touch back, like that night so long ago when Din had seen his scars and seemed to move without conscious thought. He wants a friend, someone who understands him, more than he's ever wanted anything else, and he knows, can feel deep in his chest that if he were to  _ tell _ Din, to bare himself and his history and the long, lonely life he's doomed to as the last true Jedi, Din would understand. Din, who stands with the weight of a dying planet and the hope of an entire people on his shoulders, stalwart and strong against all odds. 

Luke  _ wants _ that connection, and when he opens his eyes Anakin watches him with something so much like understanding that Luke wishes he could touch him. That he could lean forward and hug his father in a way he was never able to. Anakin’s smile is soft, morose, and Luke can tell that Anakin is thinking the exact same thing. He thinks about being able to hug someone, anyone, and his mind goes immediately to the night of Luke’s first call with Leia, when he’d been so overcome that when Din had offered Luke hadn’t hesitated. 

"I don't know how to be his friend, to want the best for him without being attached.” He admits, as if just the thought is enough to stop him cold.

" _ You don't. You just have to be prepared to let  _ go _ when the time comes." _

"Is that why you fell? You couldn't let go?"

" _ I didn't want to. Letting go of her seemed unspeakable- but letting go doesn't mean forgetting, or leaving them behind.” _

“Will you tell me about her?”

_ “Of course. I’ll answer anything I can.” _ Luke keeps that promise close to him as he draws himself out of his meditation, opening his eyes to see the low light of sundown. He jolts to his feet, making a split second decision, and runs from the house, headed straight through the city without stopping for anything or anyone. He’s out of breath, hair a mess when he dips into the dining hall, and though the noise dims around him it doesn’t stop this time, and he hears a happy little gurgle at the same time he feels the force brush over him.

Luke’s attention is drawn immediately to Grogu, and then to Din, and he smiles, a small, hesitant thing as he weaves through the crowd to sink into the chair next to the Armorer. She regards him silently for a moment before humming, reaching to give his shoulder a soft squeeze before sliding a bowl of food toward him. Luke doesn’t touch it yet, nudging his foot against Din’s under the table and quirking a brow. Din nudges him back, once, then again, and Luke tries to hide his smile but knows he fails miserably when the Armorer tilts her head and asks, 

“How have you been, Luke?”

“Alive, mostly. I’m- sorry that I yelled the last time we talked.”

She looks at him, pondering, and then reaches out to touch his shoulder again, leaving a spot of warmth when she pulls away again. “You were upset.”

“Being upset doesn’t mean I get to hurt my friends.” He replies, smiling in relief when the Armorer nods in agreement and acceptance. “I should have apologized sooner, but I was still very confused, and I don’t think I was in the right space to mean it.”

“But you mean it now, and that’s enough. I have already forgiven you.” 

“Thank you.” Luke finally begins to eat, slowly as if savoring the bite of spice that numbs his tongue. He turns his attention to Din, who’s watching as Grogu swings his spoon around madly, giggling and cooing with delight. “How did you find your son?”

“He was a bounty.” 

“A bounty?” Luke can imagine the way that Din must be smiling right now, and his orange tipped finger traces over the shell of Grogu’s ear. 

“The Empire wanted him for…. Something. Experiments with his blood. I was hired to find him and bring him in.”

“Well, you found him.”

“And brought him in.” When Luke blinks stupidly, stunned, Din hurries to continue before horror can dawn across Luke’s face. “I was working to support my covert, but I couldn’t leave him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Grogu.” The child coos, looking up at his father, and Luke is glad that Din actually knows. It would have been awkward if Luke were to say his name on accident without knowing it. But the name suits him, just like the little brown cloak suits him, and Luke smiles at him, waving. 

“Hi Grogu.” The child giggles, raising a tiny hand, and Luke shivers as Grogu's curiosity bubbles over his skin, searching. Luke tries to push back as gently as he can, to calm the swelling of Grogu's power without triggering his own unique aura, and when Grogu coos, sitting down and blinking inquisitively at him Luke sighs quietly. Neither Din or the Armorer seem to have noticed their interaction, but Luke keeps his hands carefully tucked into his lap so that Grogu doesn’t get any ideas. He’s…. Honestly far past hungry with the food sitting right in front of him, but Grogu is watching him like a hawk and he doesn’t want to start anything. 

“Not hungry?”

“Starving, actually.” Luke says without thinking, grimacing and reaching to rake a hand back through his hair. Din shifts in his chair, foot nudging Luke’s shin, and Luke hums quietly. 

“Eat.” 

“You aren’t my  _ buir _ , Din, you can’t make me.” Din snorts, sound rattling through his helmet, and Luke laughs when Din’s foot slips to ding the side of his ankle, harder than necessary. As if that will convince Luke to eat. 

“Did you forget how to handle spice in a week?”

“Piss off.” Luke says, wincing when the Armorer gives a pointed nod toward the child still playing with his spoon. Luke’s stomach grumbles, loud enough to hear, and Grogu mimics the noise, tilting his little head to the side. It’s adorable and awfully endearing, but the force surges up around them, lifting Luke’s hair at the same time he reaches out and goes, “Don’t!”

He’s too late to stop it, but he  _ is _ able to leap back as his half full bowl goes flying, splattering against the far wall behind him. Luke stands there, eyes wide, and he takes in the sight of Grogu’s little hand raised, eyes narrowed in concentration, and then the sight of the Armorer and Din staring, visors immovable but curiosity and confusion written plain across their bodies. Luke lets out a sharp, stunned exhale, and he takes three stumbling steps back, smoothing a hand over his still floating hair before turning to bolt from the dining hall. He hears a voice call after him, begging him to wait, to come back, but Luke’s skin roils with power and he can’t stay- he can’t let them see what Grogu does to him, what he brings out whenever he uses his power unknowingly.

Grogu needs training, and needs it soon, and Luke is stuck, unable to be the one to step up and offer. Instead he runs and runs, until he’s at the fountain, heaving in breath after breath and plunging a hand into the water to splash it on his face. It’s cool and fresh against his heated skin, and he’s still panting when he glances into the water's reflection and stops. A boy- no, a man stares back at him, pale eyes wide and cheeks flushed with color. His hair stands on end, blonde strands soaking in the silver of the stars behind him, and for once, for once Luke looks and sees himself. He stares at the stranger before him, at the man he’s grown into while running and hiding and fighting impossible battles. 

This is him.  _ This _ is him- he isn’t a stranger, not with the line of his nose that he recognizes as Anakin’s, the broad grin and dimpled chin that he shares with Leia. Something loosens in his chest at the realization, at the recognition of who he is, and he reaches down, near breaking the surface but not willing to shatter the fragile image of himself. Just thinking about this person, strong and wild eyed and bright being  _ him _ is dizzying, and he's still staring when a hand touches his back, smoothing between his shoulder blades. Luke startles, Din leaning by his side, peering at him and humming when he sees water dripping from Luke's nose.

"I should have warned you about that."

"Now I'm  _ really _ going to waste away." He jokes, and Din chuckles, hand warm against Luke's back. He doesn't move away, doesn't pull his hand back and Luke leans back into the touch. 

"We'll get you something. Did you want to come back?"

"Is Grogu going to throw more food at me?"

"No, but he might make your hair float." Luke snorts, reaching to pat self consciously at his hair, and Din's other hand comes up, brushing a strand back. "It's a good look."

"The floating hair?" Din hums, nodding, and Luke laughs. "Thanks, I think. Now, what do I get to eat?"

"I'll find something." Din says, and Din's hand slides to rest against his lower back, light and barely there as they walk back to the dining hall.


	8. The King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke is given a new task- one that brings him dangerously close to a king and his child.

Luke hasn't been on a scouting mission since Paz grounded him, and he's beginning to go a little stir crazy. He tries not to go out to the desert as much if he can help it, because  _ somehow _ Grogu keeps showing up and Luke isn't inclined to keep having the same scenario play out over and over. He spends most of his time either in the square playing with the foundlings and entertaining them or sat at home, reading the only book he brought with him front to back before getting up to stretch himself out. 

He also spends…. A lot of time upside down, balancing on his hands and carefully lifting his furniture to continue his training, and also to hone the strength in his arms. Din finds him this way one morning, elbows trembling and sweat dripping off his forehead, furniture thankfully in place. When the door swings open thanks to Grogu's rather brutish working of the lock Luke watches as Din's feet come into view. He counts the rifle charges on his boots until Din is crouching, thighs framing the light coming in through the door and oh- 

Luke is glad that the blood has already rushed to his head, because Din crouching in front of him, head cocked to the side and legs wide does something funny to him that he doesn't want to dwell on. The blaster on Din's hip cools the feeling a bit, but Luke has never been one to shy away and it gets a little bit easier each time he looks at it.

"Having fun?" Din murmurs, setting Grogu on the floor so he can waddle over and pat at Luke's cheeks. "You missed breakfast."

"I was busy, obviously."

"Obviously," Din agrees, and Luke nearly shudders when he feels the slow, simmering sweep of Din's attention up and down the length of his body before settling back onto his face. Luke shifts his weight just slightly, feet swaying, and he balances himself on his left hand, whole arm trembling as he reaches out to tug lightly on Grogu's ear. "Don't fall." Din warns, but his voice is oddly breathless through the modulator and Luke chooses to ignore it. 

"Good morning Grogu. Do you want to balance on my feet?" Grogu squeals in delight, as if the thought is the most novel idea, and Luke glances up at Din innocently, batting his lashes. "What do you say,  _ buir?  _ Let him fly?"

Luke watches as Din stands suddenly, scooping Grogu up, and if Luke weren't so used to reading people's emotions he'd think he was mad. But there's a curious razor sharp edge to him that feels dangerously like a particularly enticing freefall, so Luke decides to ignore it as Din stands very, very close to him and delicately balances Grogu on one of Luke's feet. Grogu grabs onto his toes immediately, steadying himself, and Luke drops his right hand back to the floor to steady himself as Grogu looks around, cooing. 

"He's never been this tall." Din muses, drawing a soft laugh out of Luke, who shuffles his hands a bit and grunts softly. He can feel his hip tweak faintly at the imbalance of weight, but it's good practice and Luke coaxes Grogu to walk onto his other foot, giggling happily and swaying so close to the ceiling his ears almost touch. "Careful."

"I've got him." Luke reassures, and all at once he lowers his legs, reaches a hand up, and scoops Grogu to his chest as he drops out of his handstand and flops onto his back. The child squeals happily, patting little hands against Luke's chest, and Luke hums, catching his breath and letting the blood drain from his head. "Did I really miss breakfast?"

"Grogu had his bowl ready to fly."

"Har har." Luke says, rolling his eyes at the pleased hum that rumbles from Din. Din settles himself on the ground by Luke's side and Luke hooks an arm over Din's lap automatically, fingers dancing along Din's side. Ever since their fight and subsequent heart to heart Din has been tactile, sitting near him or letting Luke touch him like this, and he finds that Din returns the touch nearly as often. Luke doesn’t know if it’s because of some need for affection from Din, or his own unique way of saying that he’s sorry- like the offering of his touch, his affection speaks louder than any words Din could ever say. Like now, Din's gloved hand sweeps the hair off his forehead to get it out of Luke's eyes, lingering on his temple before pulling back. Luke won't ever deny the touches, too eager for any kind of casual affection, even if it is just a friendly touch from Din, or a pat on the back from the Armorer.

"I brought you a bowl for later." Luke hums his thanks, letting Grogu grab at the fingers on his left hand and grip them tight. Somehow missing breakfast doesn't seem like what Din came here for, and Luke tugs lightly at his shirt, cocking his head. 

"What's bouncing around in that metal dome of yours?"

"Less flattering things now." Is the instant reply, but Luke only laughs and Din's hands settle over Luke's forearm still on his lap, fingers drawing idle patterns. "I know you're bored here."

"You could convince Paz to take me back." Luke points out, but Din snorts. No one convinces Paz to do anything. Din could  _ command _ Paz to let him back on the missions, but that would only inflame Paz's ego and Luke isn't interested in fighting him. Luke turns his head, humming softly and glancing up to see Din's face turned away, staring at some far off point as Luke smooths his palm up his side to get his attention. Luke is hyper aware of the way that he touches him, even now with Din having apologized- like if he’s soft enough, if he doesn’t seem threatening Din will keep the anger that he knows Din holds away from him. "What did you have in mind, Din?"

"How do you know I have something in mind?"

"The look on your face." Din scoffs, aware that isn't true, but Luke doesn't need to see Din's face to know. It's written across his body like a red flag, and maybe the force helps a bit, but it’s mostly just in the tense energy radiating from him, the hard set of his shoulders. Luke pulls his arm back, sitting up, and uses a hand to hold Grogu stable on his chest as he leans, waiting until Din looks at him to smile. Din’s shoulders tense for a moment before they relax, and Luke raises a brow. “How long have I known you, Din?”

“A while.”

“Exactly, so stop being all broody and tell me what you want me to do.” Luke waits patiently while Grogu naps against his chest, knowing Din will tell him when he’s ready. It only takes another long second of Din glancing down at the child snuggled to Luke’s chest to finally speak. 

“I want you to follow me for a few days. The kid likes you, and the Armorer told me you were more useful in diplomatic situations than I was and-” Luke brings a hand up, placing a finger on the visor where he assumes Din’s lips must be, and Din cuts off immediately, going still.   
  


“Am I going to be a babysitter or a New Republic representative?” 

“Both?” Din says weakly, and Luke laughs, handing Grogu back to Din, careful not to disturb his nap. Luke stands up, stretching, and Din sits back to look at him. “Is that a yes?”

“That’s a yes.” Luke replies, dropping his arms back to his side and grinning. “When do we start?”

“Now?”

“Mm, give me ten minutes.” Luke doesn't wait for an answer, but he doesn’t seem to wait for most things, and Din is left sitting on the floor in the living room while the shower in the refresher kicks on. Luke doesn’t walk around in the nude, thank the stars, but he leaves the door just open enough that if Din were to lean just right he could see Luke through the mirror. It’s an offer so much as it is a temptation, but Din doesn't take it and Luke has never pressed the issue. Or maybe it’s an act of trust, of Luke trying to show that he doesn’t care what Din sees. That he’s an open enough book to be trustworthy.

They leave Luke’s house exactly ten minutes later, Luke clad in a form fitted black robes and tall boots. They seem… wildly impractical, almost all the way to his knees, but Luke walks without a care and the leather is obviously well taken care of. Luke feels Din sneak glances at him more than once, lingering on the blue smattering of stars on his circlet. Luke glances at him each time, catching him in the act, but he never says anything, just takes Grogu when the child reaches for him and keeps pace while bouncing the child in his arms. 

Luke has his own reservations about being so close to the child- he’s fond of making Luke’s hair float, or triggering a reaction in him, but it’s good practice in control and Luke honestly thinks his skills in the force have improved. He can’t do anything back, can’t form a bond or reach out the way he’d like, but maybe someday, when his mission is done and he can come back… Can tell Din without fear of reprimand or punishment by the Senate. 

Not that he’s been worried about the Senate. 

Anakin’s rather antagonistic comments and Leia’s frustrations with every call only serve to jade Luke to the government left in charge of picking up the pieces, and Luke dislikes it. He dislikes it so much he might even hate it, but it’s a strong word and even stronger emotion and Luke has tried not to let himself feel that particular brand of negativity. Grogu is trying to reach for his circlet and yank at the collar of his robe when they finally make it to the Spire, Din leading them up the steps and into the building, bypassing the throne room entirely and instead heading for a room that Luke has seen people ducking into but never coming out of. 

Din leads them into it now without a thought, and Luke can tell instantly it’s a war room. There’s a large, wide table overtaking most of the room with a huge holo in the center, already projecting an image of the nearest star system. The Armorer, Paz and a few others are sat around the table, talking animatedly and gesturing wildly to the image in front of them. Luke stops by the door as the rest of them stand up, lowering into stiff, formal bows. This, Luke has seen a thousand times- in the streets, in the dining hall. Whether adult or child, it doesn't matter who. Din snorts, waving a hand to draw them from their bows, and Luke ducks his head to hide a smile. 

A bounty hunter indeed.

They drop out of their bows after only a second, as if aware that Din doesn't care, and Paz stops short at the sight of Luke lingering by the door, holding Grogu close to his chest. 

“What’s  _ he _ doing here?”

“Babysitting.” Luke pipes up, tilting his head toward the child and smiling when said child coos and pats at his jaw, little claws scratching against his skin. “What are  _ you _ doing here?”

Paz doesn’t answer, instead staring at him with a stony disbelief. Din settles himself in the chair at the head of the table, tilting his head, and Paz turns to him, spluttering. 

“ _ Him? He’s the one who took him! You- _ ” Luke keeps his face carefully confused, despite understanding quite well what Paz said, and Din glances toward him before replying in Basic.

“I asked him to be here. The Republic sent him for a reason, and I want to see how useful he is.”

“Pretty handy with a blaster.” Luke chimes in, Paz snarling and dropping down hard in his chair. The rest of the council sit down, and the Armorer leaves a chair open between her and Din. It feels entirely too cocky to take the seat next to the Mand’alor, but the Armorer motions for him to come over and Luke doesn’t hesitate a second time. He sits down in the chair without another thought, setting Grogu on the table and pulling a small piece of jerky from the inside of a pocket. Grogu takes the snack immediately, chewing at the strip of meat as the rest of the council watch on, dumbfounded. Luke looks around, brows raised, and tips his head to the side. “What?”

Din hums in amusement, shaking his head, and gestures toward the star map. “What do you see?” 

Luke turns his attention toward the map, squinting and tilting his head. He gives Grogu over to Din for a moment, standing up and reaching out to spin the map. He eyes it from different sides before sitting back down, mind whirling. Leia’s training, all the drills in protocol and supply lines and anything under the sun Luke could need for his own Order rush back to him, and he squints. 

“A trade route. But there are holes, routes that peter off into nothing, here and here.” Luke gestures to the small disturbances in the routes, and he hears a stunned cough from someone across the table. Luke doesn’t pay them any attention, reaching back out for Grogu and brushing crumbs off his little robe. “Either you’re doing it on purpose, or someone is hijacking your shipments.”

“Very good, Luke.” the Armorer murmurs, nodding in approval.

“ _ Mand’alor, _ ” Paz says sharply, glaring at Luke. “ _ We shouldn’t tell him about this- he could be the cause. _ ” 

Luke lets himself laugh at that, biting his lip and leaning back in his chair. Paz looks at him, startled, but Luke blinks a couple of times, the picture of innocence. Din sits forward in his chair, sighing heavily, and all attention turns toward him. 

“We’re losing supplies, and we need to get them back. He was sent to help.” Paz scoffs, obviously angry, but Luke reaches out toward the star map, gesturing at a spot where they’re disappearing. 

“You’re in the Outer Rim,” He starts, ideas forming in his mind as quickly as he spits them out. “Pirates are known for stealing supplies this far out because they’re usually essentials, things they need too. Are they stopping the ships in hyperspace?”

“Yes.”

“Drop them out here.” Luke points to a spot uncomfortably close to the system's sun, and there are objections immediately. Luke carries on, unphased. “It’ll make it so they can only come from one side without ruining their own hull integrity fighting the gravity of the sun or roasting themselves alive. Dropping out of hyperspace gives you time to turn, and then you’ll…”

Luke stops, lost in thought, and everyone leans forward. A far off, glassy look mists over Luke’s eyes, and he leans back in his chair, eyes glued to the image before him. The Armorer reaches for him, touching his arm lightly, and Luke shakes his head, blinking rapidly and focusing back in on the room. “Luke?”

“Let me show you.” He says, and despite their mistrust, no one argues this time. 

They give Luke a starship, a small, nimble thing that goes twice as fast as their supply carriers. Luke can show them just as well with this as he can anything else, and Luke hauls himself up into the two person cockpit, lingering on the edge. Though they argued, tried to insist it was too dangerous, Din had volunteered to be the one to witness Luke’s plan, and Grogu was safely tucked into the Armorers arms, little hands buried in the fur lining her shoulders. 

“The tracker is on?” Luke asks, getting a sharp stilted nod from Paz. He nods back before dropping into the cockpit, letting it seal down as he tucks himself into the pilot’s chair. There’s no helmet, and the controls are wildly different than the x-wing’s, but Luke knows ships better than he knows his own Jedi history, and he reaches out, flipping switches and priming buttons. The engine fires to life with a low purr, and Luke grins, giddy. 

“This makes my x-wing seem like a hunk of junk.”

“It probably is.” Din points out, and Luke barks out a laugh, shoving at Din’s shoulder before focusing back on the controls. “If we both crash into the sun, I’m not going to be happy.”

“You really should have decided not to trust me  _ before _ we took off.” Luke says, and Din is ready to point out they haven’t even left when Luke’s hands drop to the yokes, lifting them rapidly into the air and shooting for the atmosphere. The thin, sloped end of the ship and wings cut through like a hot knife through butter and Luke laughs, edging the ship to go faster and faster once they’re out into the empty expanse of space. Luke heads in a roundabout path to the system, needing to drop in at the specific angle the supply carriers will be coming from. 

“Have you done this before?” Din asks, watching the way Luke’s hands drift over buttons, adjusting and readjusting until the ship practically sings underneath him. 

“I’ve done this maneuver a hundred times.” Luke says, reassuring Din as best he can. He’s had to use it more times than he likes, but it’s also wildly fun to attempt and Luke hasn’t crashed  _ yet _ . “The people who fly your supply lines, are they competent?”

“Most are.”

“Don’t let the trainees do this.” Luke says in response, glancing over and smirking. “They’ll rubber band themselves into the sun.”

“Hm.” They fall into silence again as smears of blue color the cockpit, and Luke drops briefly from hyperspace to turn them around, headed back toward the system and Mandalore. 

“The hardest part is the drop,” Luke begins, voice breathless and edged with excitement. “Brace yourself.” 

It’s all the warning he gets before Luke slams them out of hyperspace, the straps of the chair digging into them mercilessly as Luke whoops, the ship dropping abruptly into the gravitational pull of the sun. He can feel it tugging at the ship, coaxing it, but Luke rams the thrusters up to full throttle and the temperature in the cockpit rises uncomfortably as Luke rockets through the space between the sun and the nearest planet. Luke goes once, twice around the sun, hands tight around the controls before suddenly shooting toward the opposite planet. Gravity snatches at them hard, dragging against the hull, and Luke allows them a half rotation around the planet before pulling out of the loop, shooting faster and faster toward Mandalore. 

Luke is breathless, hair stuck to his forehead and neck by the time that they blast through the atmosphere again, and Din’s heart is pounding so hard that Luke reaches over with one hand to give his hand a tight squeeze. Din’s laugh is strangled, tight in his throat, and Luke uses one hand to sweep past the landing pad, whipping the back of the ship around and drifting back to set the ship down with hardly a whisper. Luke pops the cockpit immediately, taking in a breath of fresh air before he’s laughing, grabbing Din’s hands to pull him up and out of the cockpit. He can sense Din’s astonishment, can read it in every line of Din’s armor, and he’s still laughing, breathless and flushed when the Council comes running up.

“How the hell are the supply runs supposed to do that?” Paz demands, awe and anger and disbelief painting his words. Luke doesn’t look away from Din, unable to help the way that something hot and needy shoots along his spine. 

“They won’t go nearly as fast, but the maneuver will be the same. Your pilots have to be good.”

Paz growls, annoyed, but he can’t deny Luke’s help anymore than he can directly insult him, and Luke finally looks away from the dark glass of Din’s visor to survey the rest of them.

“You’re using the gravity of the planets to increase your speed. If the pirates want to latch onto you they’re going to have to fight hard, and hope they don’t get sucked in themselves.”

“You learned this in the Rebellion?” Din asks, voice far away. 

Luke nods, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck self consciously. “My commander told me about the maneuver once, and I had to use it a few too many times to get myself out of situations.”

He doesn’t mention than most his use of the maneuvers occurred on his own, flying through uncharted systems and charted ones, skirting the people who want the bounty on his head or merely his ship.

“I know you don’t want it- but I can have an escort for the supplies, if you’d prefer that.” 

“You have that much sway?” Din asks, as if surprised, and Luke fights not to pin him with an exasperated look and say  _ of course _ . 

“I have sway in many, many places. I don’t know how many times I have to say I was sent here on purpose.” Luke teases, lips tugging in a warm smile that holds so much more than he’ll say. “Give the word and I’ll do what I can.”

“We’ll try the maneuver first.” Din says, and Luke nods, dipping into a small bow. He hears Din snort and then his gloved hand is urging Luke up and out of the bow. Luke watches, pleased, as Din talks to the rest of his council, telling them to round up their best pilots. 

Luke spends the next two days taking people out to show them the maneuver, in increasingly bigger and bigger ships until he can do it with his eyes closed and his copilot silent beside him. It’s harder to do in two person cruisers, but Luke finds a rhythm with them and coaches them best he can in finding one between them. Luke pairs them off according to who works well together, and by the time the next supply run comes Luke’s sure they’ll be fine. 

He’s eating dinner that night with Din sitting on his couch, reading the book that Luke had brought along while he scarfs his food down when he feels a cry in the force. His vision goes blurry, unfocused, and the bowl droops in his hands. Panic, confusion, and frantic terrified struggle lashes through him, and Luke feels the instant of fire scorching through him, the melting of metal against his skin and the echoes of screams in his skull when a ship goes careening into the surface of the sun. Luke distantly feels the bowl taken from his hand, soft leather on his cheeks, on his forehead smoothing his hair back, but the only thing he can focus on is his mind stretching out among the stars. He searches for the life forces of the pilots he trained, breaths coming faster and faster, and when he finds them, all six of them he sobs, shuddering with relief.

“Luke-  _ Luke _ -” 

“I’m fine.” He says, before Din can say his name again, and he’s so weak with relief that when Din surges forward, hugging him tight and letting out a shaky breath, Luke hugs him back and buries his face in the crook of Din’s neck. 

“Where do you go, Luke?” Luke freezes at the question, but Din isn’t asking what he thinks he is and Luke pulls back, smiling weakly. He wipes at his cheeks, trying to hide evidence of his tears. 

"I’m right here. I’m always here.” Din makes a noise in his throat, obviously not believing him, but Luke sighs, frowning and leaning back. “I get… lost sometimes. In feelings, or memories. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“I wanted…” Din trails off, and he draws his hands back, nervously picking at the ridge of one of his thigh plates. Luke grimaces at the harsh rebuke, and he reaches out, touching the back of Din’s hand gently.

“I’m sorry. You were only concerned.”

“I don’t want us to be strangers.” Din finally says, and something awfully warm swells in Luke’s chest, making him smile unconsciously. “Is that wrong?”

“No, no of course not. I don’t want to be strangers either.” 

\--

There is one major downside to following Din everywhere, helping in planning supply drops and cooling tempers between groups of people.

Grogu won’t leave him alone. 

Luke loves the kid, really he does, but he keeps reaching out, testing Luke’s control and trying to strong arm his way through when Luke pushes back. Luke tries to take it in stride, really he does, but Din notices Luke’s growing irritation and stops him with a hand on his chest one night when Luke goes to duck into his house for the night. Grogu is curled up in Din’s other arm, fast asleep, and Luke’s nerves are so frazzled that it’s a relief to see him asleep, unable to bother him.

It hadn’t been a bother the first couple of days- it was something that Luke knew he’d have to work around, but Grogu was  _ strong _ . He was so much like Yoda, strong and skilled in the force, and even without any training Grogu manages to tear away at his defenses, worming his way in through the cracks until a bond that Luke hasn’t felt since he was 19 clicks into place. Luke wants to cheer and rage and cry all at once: this bond, this feeling is what Luke wants, has wanted since he found that book on Yavin and began to read about all he could,  _ would _ do when he was finally able to settle and find somewhere safe for his trainees. For it to happen now when he can’t even truly use it, can’t do anything to help Grogu, seems like a cruel joke- a knife twisting in his ribs whenever Luke tries to pull it out. 

But Din still won’t let him go inside, and Luke is starting to get upset.

Luke stares at Din and Din stares back, and Luke wonders distantly if Din can feel the way that his heart is pounding in his chest. He wonders if Din can read the anger, the frazzled, tired frustration singing through Luke’s veins. 

“Why are you upset?” Din asks, blunt as always, and Luke scowls. Right for the throat, then. “Is it him?” He asks, and then quieter. “Is it me?”

Luke huffs out a hard breath, shaking his head and clenching his fists at his side. “It’s not either of you. It’s me. It’s  _ always _ me, Din.”

“Let me help.” Din offers, and Luke wants so badly to take it, but instead he shakes his head, staring hard at the ground. 

“You can’t help.” Din protests immediately, but Luke looks up, blue eyes scalding in the evening light. “You  _ can’t _ help. This is- bigger than you. Bigger than  _ me _ .” 

“Then we can do it  _ together _ .” Din shoots back, and Luke trembles under Din’s hand as the other man's fingers splay wide, feeling the staccato beats of Luke’s heart. “Don’t push me away.”

“Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.” Luke glances down at Grogu, at the peaceful snoring coming from his little mouth. He reaches out, tracing along the edge of one ear, and pulls his gaze away only when Din’s hand drops from his chest. Something like pity, weak and wavering paints Din in shocks of purple the same color as the twilight around them, and Luke speaks again, harsher this time. “You don’t know what you’re going to get- being my friend. Caring.”

“No, I don’t.” Din agrees, and Luke’s heart stutters unhappily in his chest. Din regards him silently for a moment before stepping out of the way of the door, letting Luke take a few steps forward to unlock it. Din is still standing there, watching him, when Luke turns around. He opens his mouth to say something, to keep the distance between them safe, but Din is already talking. 

“Paz has agreed to take you on scouting missions again. You won’t have to follow me, or take care of Grogu anymore.”

“Din-”

“You don’t owe me anything, Prince, and I want you to know that.” The title blows through Luke like a blaster shot, and Luke reaches out, wanting to catch Din by the front of his chest plate and make him promise never to use that title again. But Din is too far away and Luke’s hand only meets the air before he drops it back to his side. “You might think you owe everyone else something, but you  _ don’t _ .”

“You don’t know what I owe.” Luke says, voice rasping from his throat, and Din gives a small shake of his head.

“What do  _ they  _ owe  _ you _ ? When do you get to ask for something in return?” Din sounds so much like Leia in that moment that Luke can’t even say anything before Din is turning and walking away. Luke watches him, stunned, until the silver of his beskar winks out of view and he’s left shivering in the doorway to his house. 

Luke ducks into his house, unable to stand watching after where Din disappeared, and for not the first time Luke feels so wildly unprepared, so exposed that he could cry. Every time he builds a wall, keeps himself away from anyone who could hurt him or be hurt by him it gets torn down. He can feel the cracks splintering throughout it now- for all his attempts to shore it up, to build a new layer Din comes along, reaching a hand out, offering him a way out if only he would take it. 

He aches to take Din’s hand.

He aches to be able to do something, anything purely for himself, something not rooted in the needs of another. Selfishness isn’t something he’s allowed to be, to crave, but Luke wants it all the same. Luke crawls into bed that night, under his blankets and safe from the rest of the world, and he thinks about what it would be like to be selfish. To tell the Senate that he’d wasted enough time on cleaning up their petty political messes, insisting that he be left alone so he could find the other force sensitive people he knew were around, to train them and help them in a way that Luke should have been from birth. 

When he thinks about his school, about Yiana and Grogu and all the other kids he knows must be out there, an indescribable wave of melancholy drowns him. They need him and he needs them, and neither of them seem to be able to get what they want, stuck forever in a limbo of other people, orbiting around and around in the hopes that one day their orbits will clash in a flurry of light and dark and all the shadows between.


	9. The Rebel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke might be a bit worse off without the force than he realizes. He might also be in too deep with a certain beskar wearing king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alrighty folks, BUCKLE UP. The rating has officially gone up to explicit! This is the halfway mark y'all, and I am so eternally grateful that you guys are still hanging on for the ride.

Din wasn’t lying when he said that Paz cleared him to come on scouting missions again. 

He’s expected bright and early the next morning to head off into the desert with Paz and the others, and he chooses wisely to dress for the weather. The tan of his clothes will make it easier to stay cool, and the poncho is more to hide the line of his body and make it easier to hide what shots do and don’t hit him.

He also just enjoys it, and he chooses to dutifully ignore the laughs and scoffs that he gets when he walks into the armory. He goes about fitting himself with knives across his chest, a blaster at his hip and his rifle across his back, veritably weighed down by the amount of steel on his person. The rest of his squad don’t carry nearly as much, but they’re weighed down by armor and don’t need nearly as much protection and range that Luke does. No, they can charge in like bulls, which they usually end up doing, leaving Luke to pick off people around the beskar and fists flying. He’s shot Paz at least twice in the shoulder before, but he only punched Luke the first time until Luke insisted, with a split lip, that if he hadn’t moved, Luke would have taken down the Imp lunging for Paz.

The trek out to the supposed Imperial base is quiet and hot, but Luke doesn’t have anything to say to Paz and Paz doesn't feel inclined to strike a conversation either. Luke just wants to do the scouting mission, go home, and collapse on his couch, where he very much  _ won’t _ think about how much Din’s words scrape at something inside him. When does he get to ask? When does it become too much give and not enough take?

Luke thinks he’s going to get his answer soon, because a hand roughly yanks him into the sand and he goes sprawling. He rolls immediately, aware of the need to keep moving, and the sand burns across his bare arms as an Imperial stormtrooper lunges for him. Others descend from the dune in front of them, and Paz and the others are busy shooting, trying to keep the rest at bay while adjusting to protect from the ones who stay at the top to shoot, angled so that Luke and the other have to look up into the sun.

Luke is going to have to get himself out of this one on his own. 

The stormtrooper lunges for him, grabbing the strap across his chest and yanking until the rifle comes shooting forward, slamming into the back of Luke’s skull and sending him rocking forward. Spots swim across Luke’s vision and he can feel nausea building wildly in his gut, but Luke only shakes his head, trying to clear it as he lashes out. His right hand connects with the plasteel plate over the trooper's chest, cracks spider webbing out as Luke draws back and slams his fist forward again. Pieces fall away and into the sand, but Luke is swaying on his feet again, and the sun is so  _ bright _ . 

The trooper notices his hesitation and lunges, tackling Luke into the sand and sending both of them sprawling, rolling in the sand. Luke kicks and punches as best he can but he’s half stunned with the pain in his head, and it only gets worse when the trooper settles on top of him, pinning him into the sand as it burns over Luke’s bare arms, scorching hot. Luke struggles underneath him, stars bursting behind his eyes when a gloved fist slams into his face, once, twice, a third time until blood is streaming down his face and he doesn’t know what’s up and what’s down. 

The fighting stops abruptly as Luke shoves at the troopers jaw, the helmet flying off with a pop. Luke hates seeing the man’s face- he doesn’t want to know, wants them to remain anonymous, but Luke sees a spark of recognition and his stomach gutters out. 

“You’re Luke Sky-” Luke reaches out, wanting to silence him, to do anything to keep that name from coming to light. His prayers are answered in the form of a vibroblade jerking from the strap on his chest, slashing itself across his attacker's throat in a glittering arc. Luke shuffles a bit, jerking back as the trooper reaches up with trembling hands to press his hands over the wound in his neck. Blood splatters across his face, his chest, and he shoves the man off, listening to the wet gurgles as the man’s breath tries to rattles out of him. Luke shakes as the troopers lifeforce flares close enough to the surface for Luke to choke on, cutting off with a dull snap and fizzle that leaves Luke dizzy. Bile rises in his throat at the scent of blood, coppery and overwhelming fills his nose, and he scrambles back through the sand, choking down nausea. 

Luke has seen plenty of people die- he’s seen entire squads ruined in a moment, entire platoons crushed under rubble or sucked into the vacuum of space. He’s caused some of those collapses, been the reason, but he’s never had someone’s blood splatter across him, never had to listen or feel his final moment so acutely that Luke wonders if  _ he’s _ dead. Luke is so disoriented by trying to make sure he’s actually alive that he doesn’t realize the fighting has stopped, or that his squad is standing a few feet from him and the trooper, watching him. 

Luke distantly senses one of them lean toward Paz, voice low and mocking. 

“ _ H _ e’ _ s lost it, boss.” _

_ “You think this broke him?” _

_ “He’s covered in blood.” _ The woman beside Paz points out, gesturing toward him and then toward the trooper still laying in the sand. 

“ _ Do you think he’ll try to attack us? He doesn't look human.” _ Luke flinches at that, wondering just how inhuman he looks, covered in blood and brushing trembling, bloody fingers over his throat. 

“I’m not going to attack you.” He says, but he’s wound up tight and he doesn’t notice the way that everyone goes still. “ _ I did what I had to." _

The other mandalorians, Paz included, stop, and Luke’s head pounds in time with his heart as he squints up at them.

“You speak Mando’a?” Paz demands, and Luke almost laughs at the fact that he asks in Basic. 

“I understand it.” he doesn’t  _ really _ speak it- at least not well. He rises to his feet unsteadily, wobbling, though no one moves to steady him. “The mission?”

“A bust. No base, just a scared group of scouts lost in the sand.” 

“Good. That’s good.” Luke says before turning and throwing up in the sand. The last thing that he remembers before dropping to his knees again is the sharp stench of his own bile and the image of the body lying prone in the sand. 

\--

Luke wakes up clean and devoid of blood, face a maze of pain and head pounding. He tries to move, to sit up, but his head spins so badly that he can’t think and he slumps back into the soft sheets, groaning when the back of his head throbs. Luke reaches up a hand, probing gently, and finds a knot the size of an orange on the back of his head, near the base of his neck.

The fight in the sand with the trooper comes back to him all at once- the thud of his gun against the back of his skull, the dark red of soaked sand- he nearly throws up again, stomach rolling, and the panic that swells in him is almost enough to overwhelm him. The heart monitor hooked up to him beeps alarmingly as his heart rate spikes, and he rips the tabs off his chest, ignoring the angry red marks they leave behind. The beeping stops all at once and Luke forces himself up and out of bed. He has to get out, go home where he can- can do  _ something _ . Where he can hide away, can tell himself whatever lie he needs in order to get the feeling of blood off his skin. He’s in his clothes still, his pants at least, and Luke spots his boots at the end of the bed. He pulls them on with minor difficulty and has himself braced against the doorway when a medic walks by. 

“You aren’t supposed to be out of bed!” They cry, but Luke shoves them away when they try to hurry him back to bed and he takes off at a drunken lurch toward the doors of the medbay. The world tilts around him precariously, and each step slams into his skull, jolting up his spine. There are cries behind him, the sound of heavy boots on tile, and he edges himself to go faster, forcing his knees not to give out as the doors to the lobby loom in front of him.

He doesn’t make it much further before arms are wrapping around his stomach, lifting him clear off his feet, and he lashes out wildly behind him. His hands come down, fingers finding the skin between glove and gauntlet and digging his nails in mercilessly. His captor grunts in pain, but doesn’t let go, turning around and hauling him back toward his room. 

“Let me  _ go. _ ” Luke snarls, flailing his legs and trying anything he can to throw the person carrying him off balance. It only works a little bit, and only serves to get Luke dumped back into the bed rougher than he means. His vision is muddy and half spotted with the pain slamming through his skull when someone crawls on top of him, pinning him down to the bed with the strength in his thighs and his hands.

“Stop it-  _ stop it _ , Luke.” Luke freezes for an instant, eyes wide, and the familiar silver-gold-black lines of Din’s helmet come slowly into sharper and sharper focus. “Stop.” He whispers softly, and all the fight drains out of him. Luke reaches a trembling hand up to trace along the edge of gold on Din’s faceplate, deciding for himself whether Din is real when he speaks, his voice rumbling through Luke’s fingertips. “I’m going to climb off you, and you’re going to stay in bed.”

“Okay.” 

Luke definitely isn’t. 

Din regards him quietly for a moment before swinging himself up and off, and Luke stays loose and pliant for a moment before trying to rocket up. Din’s fingers find the back of his head, hardly touching him, but even that is enough to have Luke howling with pain, slumping back into the bed spitting curses and swinging an arm out to punch Din in the hip. Din takes the hit with no reaction and uses a heavy hand to shove Luke more firmly into the mattress. 

“You have a concussion and potential brain swelling and you think you can just  _ walk _ out?”

“I’m fine.” Luke bites out, though he can’t quite get his eyes to uncross and he’s one movement away from passing out because of the pain. He uses his words instead, because that seems easier than trying to fight Din. “Asshole. Absolute scum of the galaxy, worst human being I’ve  _ ever _ -” 

“Shut up, Luke.” Luke’s teeth snap together with an audible click and Din leans over him, yanking the blankets up over Luke when he notices his goosebumps. Luke begrudgingly pulls the blankets up a bit higher, wanting the warmth, and Din sinks to sit down on the edge of the bed, gently taking one of Luke’s hands in his. “You’re going to lay in this bed, and you’re going to let the medics look at your head. You’re going to wait until they tell you that you can go home, and  _ then  _ you’re going to wait for me to pick you up.”

“Why?”

“Because the  _ Mand’alor _ said so.” Din has never used his title before, and Luke laughs half in surprise and half in delirium. “And once you’ve healed, you’re going to train with me.”

“I don’t need training.”

“One stormtrooper managed to take you down. Sorry if I don’t think you’ve had enough.”

“I was  _ handling _ it-”

“Bullshit.” Din snaps, and Luke glares at him, or the two versions of him that are currently wavering in his line of sight. 

“I thought you were going to leave me alone.” Luke snaps back, though he desperately doesn’t want Din to. He wants to fix whatever this fragile thing is between them, but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t, but Din seems to without even meaning to, and Luke witnesses the way that Din’s shoulders drop, tension leaking out of him slowly. 

“I can’t. You’re- I care. Too much.” Luke blinks, stunned, and Din pushes on. “I don’t know what your past was like, Luke, but I don’t- want to bounce between hating and liking you.”

“You like me?”

“Not very much right now.” Din says, but there’s less venom in his voice now and Luke can feel a smile tugging at his lips. “I did you wrong too. I won’t pretend I didn’t hurt you, or that you didn’t hurt me.”

He swallows hard around the sudden lump in his throat, breaths uneven. “The only person who has ever understood me without running away was my sister.”

“I’m not going to run away.” Din promises, and Luke hums tiredly, eyelids drooping suddenly. “Not after you stood in my throne room and insulted me so boldly.”

Luke laughs softly, remembering that day so long ago. “We’ll see.” Luke murmurs, squeezing Din’s fingers. “We’ll see.” 

“Sleep.” Din commands quietly, and Luke shakes his head despite the pain. He doesn't know what he’s going to see if he sleeps, but Din doesn’t let him argue. He merely sighs, shoves his boots off his feet, and pushes Luke until he scoots over, tucking himself up onto the bed. The head of the bed is elevated to keep pressure off of Luke’s brain, but Din doesn’t seem to mind and he settles the bulk of himself into the bed with Luke. “Sleep. I’ll be here.”

“You won’t leave?”

“I won’t leave.” Din promises, and Luke allows himself to drift to sleep with the hard lines of Din’s armor digging into his arm. 

Luke wakes up briefly to someone lifting his head, spraying something cold and sharp against his skull, but numbness spreads through him and he sinks back into sleep. It’s a thick, dreamless sleep that Luke sinks into, as good as any healing trance he could use with the force, and he allows himself to drift. Hazy images try to come to him, fluttering across his consciousness, but any time he shifts, pulling away there's a soft, reassuring  _ calm _ that leaks into him, cocoons him in a warmth he sinks into greedily. 

By the time he wakes up, blinking his eyes open in the dim light of the room, Din is gone from his side. He sits up, head only faintly spinning, and pats the bed next to him. Panic and then disappointment spike in his chest, forcing a sharp, shuddering breath from his lips, but then fingers smooth gingerly over the back of his head and Luke shivers. He doesn't turn his head, afraid of the pain it might bring, but he croaks out, "You scared me."

"I went to get your robe." Sure enough, when Luke looks over his robe is draped over Din's arm, and he glances up at the dull reflection of blue eyes in silver. He feels leagues better than he did before his nap, and when he reaches up to touch his head there's only faint soreness and no lump. "You've been cleared to go home."

"I get my royal escort?"

"You get your escort. I'm not carrying you, so get up." Luke flings the blankets off of him, notices he's still got his boots on and shrugs. Swinging his legs out of bed is easy, but when he moves to stand his knees buckle slightly and he blinks in surprise. Din has his hand extended as if to catch him, but Luke steadies himself and reaches for his robe, swinging it on and cinching it tight. Once he's somewhat covered up he takes the hand that was offered, squeezing it lightly and letting Din walk him out.

It feels much better to walk when his head isn't pounding than it was to try and run out yesterday. At least, Luke is assuming a day has gone by because it's the middle of the day when they duck out of the medbay. Luke brings his free hand up to shield his eyes immediately, head pounding faintly at the light, but he just reaches back to pull his hood up, letting the oversized fabric conceal him from the sun. Din looks curiously at him when he does so, grip tightening on Luke's hand before relaxing again. 

"Okay?" 

"I'm fine." Luke says, and he actually thinks that he means it this time.

\--

Luke had hoped that Din would forget about training him.

He knew how to fight, really he did, but when he couldn't use the force to help him, it kind of strapped an arm behind his back and made him dance on one metaphorical foot. 

Which is how he feels right now, with Din tossing him around like a sack of animal feed, taunting and goading him into sloppy attacks. He reminds himself, as sweat drips into his eyes and Din bends his arm behind his back and presses his face into the mat  _ again _ , that if he had the chance to show Din who he was, to fight with all the weapons in his arsenal, he'd wipe the floor with him. He keeps that thought firmly in his mind as he grits out, "Yield." And Din's heavy weight lifts from his back.

"You aren't concentrating." Din says, an obvious frown in his voice. He holds a hand out to help Luke up and Luke waves him off, rolling to lay on his back and pant. 

He'd worn his lightest clothes in fear that he'd overheat, and those fears are partially coming true. He's slick with sweat, the chest and back of his shirt soaked through, and his hair sticks to him in wild, messy waves. It reminds him of the awful, humid heat of Dagobah with Yoda, and he's not sure he likes having to be trained again. 

Din’s voice and the sight of his visor breaks Luke from his thoughts. "Luke."

"What?"  _ He's _ not sweating, at least from what Luke can tell, and he looks no worse for wear, breaths inaudible through the helmet.

“What kind of combat training did you have?”

“I was a pilot.” Luke says dryly, and Din snorts, moving to sit down next to him on the mat. 

“So they never trained you in hand-to-hand?”

“Not really. If we were out of our ships something had gone wrong and we were probably already dead.” 

“What was it like?” Luke glances over at him, wary, but Din looks nothing but earnest and Luke sighs softly. Din said he wanted to be let in, to know more about him, and talking about his time as a pilot is about as safe as he can get. It was before he was really a jedi, when he’d had some training but not enough to consider himself anything like what Ben or Yoda were. 

“What do you know of the Rebellion? The Battle of Yavin?”

“Nothing, really.” Din shrugs when Luke raises a brow, as if asking how he  _ didn’t _ know. “There were still bounties coming in, and I had my covert to take care of. You’re avoiding the question.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Luke mulls over what he wants to say, and then starts from the beginning. “I was in the Red Squadron- a childhood friend from Tatooine was in the squadron with me. I was Red 5, and he was… Red 3. I think. The fight was going fine at first- the first pass was a success and we protected Gold squadron during their attack. But Vader showed up and…”

Luke sits up, running fingers through his hair and shaking his right hand out. 

“He destroyed my unit. I was the only one left, other than the man who had trained me. After the Battle of Yavin they made me an officer, and sent me off on missions.”

“Alone?”

“Mm. They were scouting missions, things one x-wing could handle, and I’d already proven myself by then. I just wanted to be a part of something more.” Luke admits quietly, resting his arms on top of his knees and letting himself remember. 

“I grew up on Tatooine- I think I mentioned that. Nothing but sand and womp rats and pod racing. I would lay out on the sand at night, once the suns had gone down, even if I was easy pickings for sand people, and I would dream.”

“About?”

Luke smiles, laughing bitterly. “Adventure. Flying among the stars,  _ being _ somebody. I thought I  _ had _ to have been destined for something greater, something that would take me away from Tatooine and never bring me back.” 

“Have you gone back?”

“Once. I told myself I didn’t want to see sand ever again if I could help it.”

“Do you like it here?” Din says in reply to that, and Luke laughs, more genuine this time as he hauls himself to his feet and holds a hand out to Din. Din takes it after a moment, and they linger there, holding on for a moment as Luke answers.

“More than I thought I ever would. I didn’t know what to expect when they dropped me off-  _ someone _ was willfully vague.” 

“I didn’t want you here.” Din says, defensive, and Luke smirks, nodding.

“I know.” Luke walks a slow circle around the king, but Din doesn’t move, not even a swivel of his head to keep Luke in his sight. 

“I want you here now.” Din says, and Luke lunges for him, dodging under the hand that shoots out to grab him. They fall into another spar, with Luke leading the offensive this time, and Luke’s unspoken  _ I know _ hangs heavy in the air around them. 

Luke is different on the offensive- bold and rash and entirely instinctive. It makes for a difficult opponent, because Luke will telegraph one movement and dip into another entirely, throwing Din off balance or forcing him to adapt in an instant. For all Din’s insistence that Luke isn’t concentrating he sure is now, and when Luke sweeps Din’s feet out from under him, placing a boot on the decorated center of Din’s chestpiece and pressing down lightly Din stares up in disbelief. Luke can feel it radiating off of him in waves, along with something else that Luke doesn’t have time to pick apart before a hand is wrapping around his calf and throwing him clear across the room. 

Luke goes flying with a startled shriek, and their next round begins anew, with Luke back on the defensive and Din coming after him with more precise, hard blows. Luke can feel himself bruising, knows he’s going to be covered in marks, but he relishes the burning in his arms and thighs and doesn’t stop until Din has him pinned again, both of them breathing hard now and Luke’s heart slamming against his chest. 

“You hold back.”

“I hold back on a lot of things.” Luke breathes out, hyper aware of every inch that they’re pressed together. He’s glad that he’s the one on bottom, if only to hide the way that Din’s weight and warmth and eager, breathless voice makes him feel. 

“Don’t.” Luke gives a strangled laugh, turning his head as his cheek presses into the mat, and he pins Din with a look out of the corner of his eye. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“You keep saying that.” Din muses, letting more of his body weight press Luke into the floor. Luke’s legs go wide to brace himself, and suddenly he can’t breathe with the implications of it all. “What  _ am _ I asking for?”

Luke freezes under him, body gone cold, and Din notices right away, letting up immediately and dropping Luke’s arm from behind his back. Luke shoves to his feet, pulling at his clothes, and Luke desperately hopes the flush of his cheeks is just because he’s warm. 

Suddenly the words are choking him, rising up so quickly in his chest and lodging so painfully in his throat that Luke opens his mouth just to spit them out. He burns with it, lit from inside, and his mouth closes with a harsh snap as Luke snarls, shaking his head and pacing toward the door. Din watches him moving along the mat, and Luke wonders what he looks like, what he feels like, if he’s as dark and violent as a storm cloud, volatile and likely to lash out at any moment. He wonders if Din looks at him this way and fears him, or if he looks at the power and aches for it. 

“I can’t tell you.” Is all he finally says, and Din's sigh is a lament, a sad, frustrated noise. He feels it like a shot burning down his throat, scalding his heart. He wants to softness the blow, to do  _ something _ and before he knows it he's gasping out. “Yet.  _ Yet- _ ”

“You don’t owe me anything, Luke.” Din walks up to him, catching his shoulder and stilling his restless, animalistic pacing. 

Luke looks up at him, blue eyes wild, and releases a slow, shaky breath. “I owe you  _ everything _ , Din. I owe you more than I can-”

“You’ve given me that and more.” The words spark through him, lighting every inch of him, and Luke feels his hair begin to float at the same instant the door to the training room opens. He hears Grogu’s quiet little coo, and he’s never been so glad to see the little menace, because Din doesn't think anything of the way that Luke’s hair is floating, or the soft pulse of  _ something _ that goes through the room as Luke gets himself back under control. 

Luke declines to join them for dinner that night, and goes home aching and frustrated beyond belief. The shower he takes that night is bitterly cold, the scars on his chest aching with it, but it’s the only thing Luke can think to do to wash away the fevered, flushed way he  _ wants _ Din. Well, he can think of other ways, but he’s not that far gone yet and some selfish part of Luke wants Din to be here to see, to feel the way that Din affects him. To witness the hungry, restless thing that paces along the length of Luke’s bones and howls to be released. 

Luke doesn’t show up for breakfast, doesn’t show up for their sparring session, and doesn’t show up for dinner. He hides away in his house, picking away at the rations he had stored for when he didn’t want to brave the dining hall, and most certainly does  _ not _ spend his time thinking about how he can work around the Senate’s command not to reveal who he is. He could reveal himself, on accident or on purpose and hope that Din knows enough to parse what happened, but that feels wrong to him. He’s so lost in the thought of trying to figure out some way to help that he doesn’t immediately hear the knock on the door. Luke goes to get it without a thought, and his breath rushes out of him all at once. 

Din stands highlighted by the moonlight, gleaming and cloaked in a worry that melts as soon as Luke is in his sight. “Din.” He says, because stupidly it’s the only thing he can think to say. 

“You’re okay.” Is all he says, and Luke nods dumbly. “You didn’t show up for sparring.”

“I’m sorry I was- my hand had to be cleaned out.” It’s the worst excuse in the world but Din takes it as the truth, nodding his head. Luke almost feels bad enough to tell him he was just moping around the house doing nothing. 

“Is it okay?” Din asks, mostly being polite, and Luke nods, holding his hand up and wiggling his fingers to show him. Din tilts his head slightly, as if thinking, and when he speaks his voice is quiet, restrained. “Did you want to spar, still?”

“Yes.” He blurts, before he can think better of it. Din laughs quietly at his instant reply, and he nudges past Luke and into the house. “Wait- here?”

“There’s a class tonight for the trainees.”

“This late?” 

“They’re learning to fight with night vision.” That… makes more sense than Luke expects, and he huffs, closing the door behind Din and helping him shove furniture around. The couch gets shoved up against one wall, the coffee table stacked on top, and really, the amount of stuff he has in the house is embarrassingly plain. It makes it easier to put together a makeshift sparring area, but they don’t have much room to move and Luke is aware that fighting like this is going to be much, much harder. Din inspects the area with a critical eye, but he shrugs after a moment. “It’ll work.”

“If you break something I am  _ not _ taking the blame.” Luke warns, drawing a laugh from the older man. Anticipation bubbles up in Luke the longer that they stand there just looking at each other, and Luke begins to pace, unable to stay still. Din doesn’t have the same problem, holding himself with that same quiet grace he always has, and Luke is intimately aware of each and every difference between them. Luke raises a hand, crooking a finger for Din to come closer, and Din surprisingly enough- does. He jerks forward as if unaware of himself, and Luke’s eyes widen for a moment before Din is swinging a blow aimed at his ribs.

He hops back, avoiding the hit, but his back smacks softly against the wall and he has to slip under Din’s arm to avoid being pinned to the wall already. He spends most of the match just dodging, trying to stay away from Din if he can and landing blows that don’t do much- a hit to Din’s ribs that makes the man grunt, a kick to the thigh that Din seems to resolutely ignore. He can’t hit any of Din’s vital spots, places that would incapacitate him because of all the damn  _ beskar _ in the way- and Luke doesn’t have that same protection. He’s in his training robes, the ones he’d gotten from Ben so long ago, and the fabric doesn't provide any cover past slight padding when Din’s fist hits his stomach or slams into his sternum and knocks the breath from him. 

They dance through the room this way, Din chasing and chasing and chasing, Luke a shadow of black slipping in and out of sight when the light flickers above them. Din either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, but Luke can only do so much when his skin crawls with the force so, so close to being released. He ducks under a punch meant to incapacitate him, slips into Din’s space and lands  _ another _ blow on Din’s ribs that he doesn’t seem to feel. Maybe he should start hitting harder, because the stitch in his side is starting to kill him and he doesn’t know how long he can keep dancing away.

Luke is running out of stamina faster than he’d like, and Din has him backed into a corner, forearm across his throat, while Luke glares down at him. He’s not quite sure how they’d ended up in this position, but Din’s flamethrower is uncomfortably close to his throat and he’s up on his tiptoes trying to lessen the press of Din’s arm. He could end it here, yield and tell Din to get out, but he’s tired of letting Din win and his head is foggy with the way that Din’s beskar digs into him.

“You’re running.” Din says, faintly out of breath, and Luke scowls. 

“You have full armor, so forgive me if I’m not going to attempt to punch through that.” The pain in his side is starting to fade with Din allowing him time to rest, though he knows that isn’t what this is. He stares while Din stares back, and Din’s arm presses just a bit harder, beskar vambrace digging in, and Luke swallows, nostrils flaring.

“Focus.” Din insists, and Luke doesn't know what he’s supposed to focus  _ on _ , but he lashes out with his right hand, putting as much force behind it as he can and slamming his fist into the middle of Din’s chestplate. Din wheezes at the hit and Luke does it again, then again, battering Din back as best he can. He can feel pain blooming along the skin over his hand, and he’s almost certain he’s split it, but Luke doesn’t care- Din stumbles and Luke takes the opportunity, leaping forward and tackling him to the ground. Din hits the ground hard, rolling, but Luke rolls with him, throwing all of his strength into his arms and spinning until Din is underneath him, Luke’s legs tight around his hips and fingers squeezing hard around Din’s wrists.

“Fine.  _ Fine _ , Din, I will focus.” Luke says, and Din laughs underneath him, straining up against his grip. Luke bears down on him with all the strength he has, pinning him into the floor and arms trembling faintly at the strength it takes to do so. “Is this what you want?” Luke insists, glaring down at him, and Din’s breath hitches in his throat when Luke shifts, and oh-  _ Oh _ . 

Luke goes stock still above Din, eyes wide, and Din makes a quiet, pitiful noise in the back of his throat when Luke sits very pointedly back against Din’s crotch, feeling the hard curve of him. Luke laughs, because it’s the only thing he can think to do, and Din shudders underneath him. Luke dips down, closer to Din’s faceplate, fingers loosening around Din’s wrists. He searches the dark line of Din’s visor, as if he’ll find answers there as he presses his hips down harder, and Luke can imagine the way Din’s jaw must tweak. 

“Sorry.” Din mutters, clearing his throat, but Luke’s eyes are dark, pupils blown, and he laughs again, deep and throaty. “I can go, Luke. You don’t-”

“Do you want to go?” He asks, heart beating wildly in his chest, and Din stills underneath him. Luke draws his hands back completely, letting Din move if he wants, but Din doesn’t do anything, leaves his arms where they are above his head as Luke stares through the visor. “Din, do you want to leave?”

“No.”

“Then stay.” Luke breathes, and maybe he’s being rash, being stupid, but Din quakes underneath him and Luke  _ wants _ , knows that Din wants him too. He’s definitely weak, unable to help himself, because at the same instant one of Din’s hands comes down to cup the back of his neck, drawing Luke forward to press their foreheads together, Luke grinds his hips down. Din groans, the noise choking off into something hot and needy, and Luke smirks, doing it again even as the reverence of Din’s forehead pressed to his shocks through him. 

Luke has been here long enough to know what it means, to know what the gesture entails, and Luke feels set on fire by it. 

“I don’t want to pressure you.” Din grits out, voice rough with lust. “I want- to give you something.”

“You’ve given enough.” Luke says, hands coming up to cup Din’s helmet with trembling fingers as he rolls his hips, working with the unconscious rise of Din’s hips. 

Din shakes his head lightly, denying, and his next words send a bolt of arousal so strongly up Luke’s spine that he’s blind with it for a moment. “I’d give you anything, Luke, if only you’d take it.”

“Take it?” The phrase in itself screams of selfishness, and Luke wants to push away, to say that he can’t, but Din’s hand tightens in his hair and Luke shivers at the sensation. 

“Take what you want for once. It’s something I want to give.” Luke jolts, hips stilling, and he leans back, Din’s hand falling from his hair. He looks at Din for a moment, panting underneath him, and Luke throbs at the visual of Din, cloak crumpled underneath him and fog dissipating from his visor. He doesn’t let himself think anymore, doesn’t let himself doubt, yanking at the tie to his robe and slipping it down and off his shoulders. It exposes the pale expanse of his chest, the white branding of the lightning across his chest and ribs, and Luke throws the robe somewhere to the side, leaving him only in his thin pants. 

He doesn’t know what Din will take off, what his creed keeps from him, but when Luke reaches forward, tugging lightly on the fingers of Din’s gloves the other man doesn’t hesitate to rip them off and drop them somewhere close. Luke takes his hands, guides them to hold at his ribs, and Din takes the invitation immediately, fingers splaying wide across his skin. His hands are warm, impossibly so, and Luke gasps at the way his nerves prickle, faint at first but growing in intensity as Din’s hands drift, warming over his skin. 

Luke reaches a hand back as Din’s legs shuffle, heels bracing on the ground, and he grabs onto one knee to steady himself as he ruts his hips down. Din groans under him, hips shifting, and Luke’s other hand reaches out to snag the collar of Din’s shirt, dragging him up. Din is loose and pliant under Luke’s demanding hands, head tilting as Luke knocks their foreheads together, panting lightly and letting Din’s thighs and chest box him into his lap. It presses them closer than ever before, the hard lines of Din’s beskar digging in, but Din’s bare hands are on his skin, skating over his ribs and his back, blunt nails pressing in when Luke finds a better angle. Luke couldn’t ask for more. 

“Luke.” Din mutters, and Luke hums, lips quirking at the way Din’s hips stutter. “Close your eyes. Keep them closed.”

“Why?”

“Luke.” Din entreats, and Luke does as he says, closing his eyes and keeping them shut. He doesn't open them even when Din’s hands leave his body, even as his hips still, and Luke hums curiously when he hears a soft hiss and a startled gasp of breath. There’s a soft clatter to his left, something being set or knocked down, and then lips press to his neck, trailing hot open mouthed kisses that has Luke’s hand flying up to cradle Din’s head, neck arching to allow him more room. 

“Din-” Said man hums against his skin, tongue flicking along his pulse point and making Luke’s fingers tremble in Din’s hair. It’s coarse, thick and unruly in Luke’s fingers and he adores the texture immediately. “ _ Din.” _ He says again, just because he can, and Din nips, teeth scraping along his neck and drawing a startled moan from Luke. 

Luke has had enough teasing by now, has had enough wanting and dreaming and hoping, and he drops both hands, fumbling with the fly of Din’s pants as the other man's hips lift to help. Din’s hands are back on him now, smoothing along his sides and ribs and a thumb coming up to brush indulgently across Luke’s nipple. It only takes Luke another fumbling moment to pull Din free from his pants, and Luke drinks in the soft, unaltered groan and swear that Din utters against his neck when Luke strokes along the length of him. Luke indulges his own want for a moment, thumbing just under the head and laughing when Din’s hips jerk, Din’s teeth digging harder into his neck and hands clenching around Luke’s ribs.

“Like that?” Luke murmurs, tilting his head to press his lips against Din’s temple and gasp into his hair when Din drops a hand to palm him through his pants. He grinds greedily into Din’s palm, huffing, and Din tugs at the waistband of his pants, pulling them down just enough to expose Luke to the evening air. He hears Din’s breath choke off in his throat as he tilts his head to look, and Luke thinks it’s highly unfair he can’t see, but he’s not about to ruin whatever this is and he finds it doesn’t really matter too much when Din’s hand wraps around him. “Ah-”

“Like that?” Din mimics, and Luke can’t help his laugh. He drops his hand when Din nudges, and Din’s thighs press against his back, urging him a little closer as Din slots them together and takes them both in hand. Luke bucks up into his fist, sliding together, and Din’s lips find his jaw, trailing slow kisses before he dips down to nibble at his collarbone, licking at the small dip there and humming at the taste. 

Luke presses his chest against Din’s, shivering at the cold of the beskar and not caring when his chest prickles with something close to pain. The rest of him is feverish, flushed and edged with sweat, and Luke doesn't know how much longer he’s going to last with Din’s thumb sweeping over the head of his cock, smearing beads of precum and aiding in the slide of his hand. Luke chases his own pleasure for once, working his hips in tight, sharp thrusts and wrapping his arms around Din’s neck, one hand going into his hair and the other shoving underneath the neckline of his suit to scratch at his skin, just to feel more of him.

Din shudders against him, moving just slightly to that he can press his forehead against Luke’s, eyes roaming over him. Hecan feel Din's gaze like a brand across his skin, and his whole body prickles with it, pleasure and want pounding in his skull. Luke’s eyes stay firmly shut, especially when he knows Din’s face is so close to his, and Luke whines suddenly, hips stuttering and rhythm dropping away from him in lieu of moving in a way that draws out the best feelings. Din adjusts as best he can, murmuring quietly. “That’s it, Luke, let go.”

“You-”

“Luke.” Din scolds softly, and Luke chokes on a laugh and a moan, heat rising higher and higher in him until he can’t take it anymore. He spills over Din’s fist with a final keening moan, breaths ghosting over Din’s face and brow pinched as his hips jerk, chasing the last overwhelming waves of his release as Din groans underneath him. Luke feels Din’s hand slow, not wanting to overstimulate him, and Luke drops a hand, placing it over Din’s and guiding him even when his own body sings that it’s too much. His nerves are on fire, starlight flooding his veins, and when Din moans brokenly, hips shoving up, Luke basks in the feeling of Din’s come landing on his stomach. He doesn’t let Din’s hand stop until Din is protesting breathlessly, and only then does Luke pull back, leaning just far enough away to lick away the drops that landed on his fingers. 

Din’s answering groan at the sight is enough to make Luke want to go all over again, and he laughs, settling himself in Din’s lap. Luke can hear Din moving and he expects Din to go for his helmet, wanting it back on, but Din’s hands grab at his ribs, thumbs smoothing over the bumps as he places kisses along the slope of Luke’s shoulder. Luke allows himself to sit, to laze in the weak, wobbly way his muscles feel, protesting at any movement that’s too strenuous. 

“Din? Can I ask a potential mood ruining question?” Din hums, lips curling against Luke’s skin, and Luke giggles at the brush of facial hair he’s finally noticed. 

“Go ahead.” He offers after a moment, nosing at Luke’s jawline. 

“When is it okay to take the helmet off?” Luke expects Din to get angry, or to pull away with the reminder, but Din only hums and kisses at his skin, indulging the both of them. 

“I can take it off to sleep or eat, so long as no one outside my clan is around.”

“Grogu has seen your face?” Din murmurs an affirmative against his skin, as if he can’t bear to pull back far enough to give a proper answer. Luke doesn’t mind it all too much. “Why take it off now?”

“I wanted to.” Din says simply, as if it’s the easiest answer in the world.

“What if I’d looked? Would you have had to kill me?”

Din pauses, going still, but then he relaxes and sighs quietly. “No. I just- wouldn’t be mandalorian anymore.”

“ _ Din _ .” Horror crawls over Luke’s skin at the potential, at the thought that he could have ruined Din’s life in one moment of passion. Din’s hands smooth up over Luke’s back, pressing between his shoulder blades to keep him close as Din shakes his head, whispering against Luke’s neck.

“Don’t. Don’t think about what ifs. I trust you.” 

That thought alone makes Luke’s heart swell and break all at once, and Luke can’t answer after that, burying his face in Din’s hair and hugging him close. 

  
  



	10. The Jedi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke wonders what it will change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright yall, you've been guessing and asking for so long, and here we are!

Luke doesn’t know what he expected after their shared night together. He knows, somewhere deep in him that something has changed irrevocably within them, but it doesn’t feel that way. He still eats breakfast and dinner with Din, still cares for Grogu when Din needs him to and spars with him when they both have time. Well, sparring is a generous term- they still fight, and Luke can tell that he’s improving, but half the time it ends up with the both of them breathless and shaking, worked up half to tears and aching for some kind of release. They haven’t gone past anything more than heavy petting and Luke’s occasional begging to taste him, but Luke tells himself he’s satisfied with what he has.

So things have changed. Just not in a way that Luke expects. Din doesn't take his helmet off again while they’re together, not after Luke’s insistence that he doesn’t want to chance it. Instead Luke becomes accustomed to the press of Din’s helmet against his neck, metal edges digging in, and the way that Din’s voice sounds, wrecked and strung out through the helmet. 

It’s thoroughly distracting to look at Din and know what his mouth and his hands and his very careful attention feels like, but Luke wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Luke doesn't prod at what’s between them and Din seems content to leave it at what is it, and it should hurt, but some part of him is relieved. Relieved to have someone who wants him, wants to be near him and make him feel good without having to ask for more. It’s not because he doesn't want it- Luke wants that connection more than he thinks he’s ever wanted it before, but it makes him feel better about his own Code, and what he was supposed to be modeling, what he was hoping to overturn and rebuild some day. 

He's been thinking more and more about his Code and his Order and who he wants to be in it. What it should  mean to be a jedi, to be trained in the way of the new Jedi. To be more than the others were- to be  better than the Jedi of old who fought a war with the people he’s come to care for, who allowed the Empire to rise to power, whether from complacency or something else. A twist of their own code, used against them.

He recognizes himself in the mirror most mornings now, bleary eyed and sleep deprived, but he likes it. He likes seeing the bags under his eyes, the wrinkles at the corners from smiling so much. It tells a story, tells Luke that for all his vast all encompassing power and responsibility, he’s still just one person- just a man at the end of the day, when others look and see so much more. He wonders what Din sees, what his squad sees when they look at him. They don’t know what he is, what he can do, and there’s a genuine quality of how he's treated when no one is aware of just what he can be. 

They treat him the way that Leia treats him, and Luke finds himself missing her more and more every day. He finds himself missing her so much that he spends more than the hour allowed to him on the relay, though no one ever comes to stop him and Din seems unaware. Or maybe he just doesn’t care, because Luke is certain he knows, and hasn’t said anything to him. He takes his dinner in the relay room tonight, and though part of him misses talking with Din and the Armorer and even Paz when the mandalorian deigns to sit with them, still half angry at the situation from the desert, he’s eager to see his sister again, to hear her voice. 

She’s expecting his call this time, and she picks up on the second ring, smiling at the sight of him and sitting back in her chair. She’s got a plate of food in front of her, like they’d arranged, though it’s hardly past sunrise for her. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, though from the way it curls Luke can tell it was in at least two braids for most of the night until she sat down. 

“What do you have?” Leia asks, and Luke looks down at his bowl. He holds it up for her to see and watches as her nose wrinkles at the color. “Is that what hurts your mouth?”

“It’s not that bad,” Luke protests, but it really is, and Luke balances the bowl on his thigh as he inclines his head toward her. “They make it uh, special for me. So I don’t waste the meat.” 

“You told them?”

“Not on purpose! I didn’t want to offend them, but I didn’t want to throw it up later and there were some kids who were still hungry and-”

“How have they not figured you out yet?” Leia asks, but her voice is amused and her smile is fond. “Eat, before it gets cold, and we’ll talk while we do.” 

Luke nods, glad to have something to do with his hands, and while they eat, Luke blinking back tears from the spice and Leia laughing at him when he coughs, he begins to relax. Leia has always felt like home for him, a point in the universe he’s always anchored to, no matter what. It’s good to see her, to hear her voice, and he finds himself asking without really meaning to.

“Lee, how did you know you liked Han?”

“Hmm?” She looks up from her nearly cleared plate and pauses, fork poised above her plate. She sets it down after a moment, folding her hands in front of her and debating, lips pursed. “It wasn’t really one moment, I think. He was-  is absolutely insufferable sometimes, but he’s mine.”

“What did it feel like, when you realized you liked him more than just a friend?”

“Nothing really changed, I just- I looked at him one day and I knew. I wanted to tell him things that I hadn’t told anyone, even if I knew he’d only make some stupid joke.” 

Luke goes silent at that, thinking it over and tossing the idea around. 

“Is there someone you have feelings for, Luke?”

“Yeah.” He says without hesitation, slapping a hand over his mouth a second later and blushing furiously. Leia leans forward, nearly standing up, and she stares at him in disbelief. 

“Luke Skywalker, you are going to tell me who it is or so help me I will fly out there to kick your ass  myself- ”

“Okay, okay! But I- it isn’t the way you and Han are! It’s just- we’ve been… Sleeping together.”

“Who is it?”

“The  Mand’alor .” Luke says miserably, aware that at any moment Leia is- 

She starts laughing, laughing and then yelling, and Luke can’t tell what she’s saying other than snippets of ‘of course’ ‘they send you to do  one thing’ and various swear words that Luke is glad Grogu isn’t around to hear. He leans forward in his chair to protest, cheeks red and eyes wide.

“I didn’t do it on purpose! It just- happened. And then it was really nice, and it keeps happening and he has nice hands and-”

“I do  not want to know.” Leia insists, raising a hand to stop Luke in his tracks. She brushes a hand over her hair, smoothing it back, and then sits back down in her chair, hands once again folded neatly in front of her. “When did this happen?”

“A few days ago, after my last scouting mission gave me a concussion.”

“ Luke .” Leia scolds, and Luke grimaces, reaching to rub at the back of his head sheepishly. 

“I’m fine! I’m not very good at hand-to-hand while holding myself back and it uh, made the situation sticky. Din’s been training me in the evenings.”

“That’s what you call it?”

“Leia!” It’s Luke’s turn to yell, and Leia laughs, deep and mellow, and Luke finds himself grinning despite his red cheeks and the embarrassment sitting in his stomach. It feels good, to sit and talk with his sister, even if it means being embarrassed about his sex life, or being threatened for not having told her sooner. “I’ve gotten better at it, really I have. Din said that by the time I finally go home I might be on my way to being mandalorian.”

“Would you want that?” Luke shrugs his shoulders, taking a bite of his food and sufficiently avoiding the question. Would he want to be mandalorian? Belong to another creed, another religion dying and struggling to survive? Luke isn’t sure what it would even change, other than a new armor to wear and a family to go back to. Well- it would change a lot actually- he would be a part of something. He would have friends, family, people to turn to when things got tough. He wouldn’t be alone anymore. He wouldn’t be  alone . The thought strikes him so hard that he doesn’t know what to say, how to answer. Leia can see that he isn’t going to answer, and asks a different question instead. “What makes you think you like the  Mand’alor , other than the sleeping together?”

“I don’t know.” Luke begins, and he really doesn’t. He doesn’t know what it is about Din that makes him think anything is different- aside from what they’ve been doing. He doesn’t know what it means for Din to touch him, to brush fingers over his arm as they pass, to hold his child close and smile when Din laughs fondly at the two of them. What it means when Din’s fingers untangle his hair from Grogu’s tight, unrelenting grip, touch gentle all the while. Finally, he finds the words to continue, blinking and staring unseeingly at the pictures behind her.

“I want to tell him, Lee. I spent a night thinking about it, what I would say, how I could show him without breaking my word to the Senate. Does that make me an oathbreaker? To want to tell him and let him see me for all that I am?”

Leia looks at him, eyes dark, and Luke finds himself talking again, if not to fill the silence then to dump the weight off of his chest that keeps him from breathing if he sits still for too long. 

“I want to be able to talk about Yavin, or about Endor, tell him what I really did- how I lost my hand, and why his child loves me so much, why Yiana loves me. Why my hair floats when things get tough, even if Grogu is usually around for me to use as an excuse.”

Luke takes a breath, continuing. “Is that something more than friendship? Or do I have so few friends that I can’t imagine what it’s like to make a new one?” 

“What does your head tell you? Your heart?” She prods, voice gentle, as if breaking Luke’s fragile reverie could stop this thought completely.

“My head tells me that I’m being stupid. That he likes what we have, the physical connection, and he appreciates my help with Grogu and Mandalore and everything else.”

“But,” Luke wavers now, pushing the last bit of food around in his bowl. “My heart aches whenever he’s gone, and I don’t know what that means. My heart aches when I’m away from you, too, and that’s love, but not  that kind. Not the kind that burns when I’m near. That steals my breath. He makes me want to be a better person. He makes me want to reach for the stars and tear them down so he’ll have a little more light.”

“That,” Leia says softly, “Sounds an awful lot more romantic than just a physical connection.”

“You think so?” Luke says, and he blinks a few times, drawing himself back up and finishing his food in two large bites. The mood around them, whatever it was, shatters, and Luke seems to fold back into himself, again the picture of calm serenity. Of a Jedi who has no attachments and needs no one. He wonders if Leia can feel the doubt and denial swirling in his head. “I dunno. I think I’m just reading too far into this.”

“Has he kissed you?” Leia asks, leaning forward, but Luke’s cheeks go pink and he refuses to grace her with a response. How would he explain that Din had, but that Luke was almost certain it was just because of the heat of the moment? Din didn’t do it in public, didn’t do it unless they were doing anything, and Luke took that as something inherently tied to their more intimate moments together. So no, he  hasn't kissed him. Not really. But he's not going to tell her, so he clears his throat and asks instead.

“How has Artoo been? Has he been behaving?”

“He’s a menace.” Leia says, scowling when a smug beep and chirp echoes through the room. “Like a disobedient puppy, with a much, much more foul mouth.”

“Are you taking him for his walks?” Luke jokes, but Leia scowls at him and Luke laughs. “He’s not used to being stuck on a planet for so long. Take him for a ride.”

“I’m not flying that hunk of junk you call a ship, Luke.”

“Hey! Why is everyone so mean to the x-wing? It saved your life, you know, you could stand to be a little more grateful.” Luke leans forward, wagging his finger at his sister, and Leia laughs. “Everyone’s a critic until their brother blows up the death star, then suddenly his x-wing is useful. You know, you could really-”

“Luke.” Leia says, but Luke is on a roll, standing up from his chair with his hands on his hips. 

“You haven’t even said  thank you for me coming here- you know that I hate sand in my boots-”

“Luke! Time for you to go.” Luke frowns, confused, but a hand touches the small of his back and he jumps, looking over to see Din, head tilted curiously and attention on the holo. 

“Oh! When did you get in?” 

“You missed sparring. Again.” Din says in answer, and Luke gasps. 

“It hasn’t been that long- Lee, tell me it hasn’t been more than an hour.” Luke looks toward his sister for an answer, but her smug, amused expression only serves to prove Din’s point and Luke groans. “Well, might as well leave it for the night, hmm?”

“Oh no. I expect you down in ten.” 

“What about my  beauty sleep?” Luke asks, and Din reaches up to chuck him under the chin. Luke relaxes at the touch, rolling his eyes and huffing. “Fine,  Mand’alor , I’ll be down. You’re using your power for evil, you know. Absolutely cruel.” 

“Mhm.” Din turns back to the holo, inclining his head at the same time that Leia does. “Senator.”

“ Mand’alor.” Din turns, red cloak sweeping from the hall, and Luke groans, slapping his palm against his forehead. “You’ve got it bad.” Leia agrees, even without Luke saying anything. 

“I’ve gotta go. Thank you so much for having my back, Lee, really feeling the love.”

“Run along to your king before he comes back to drag you down.” Leia teases, Luke sticking his tongue out right before she cuts the call. Luke jogs over to the dining hall to drop off his bowl and then heads to the training area where Din is waiting for him, quarterstaff in hand. Luke catches the tall length of lacquered wood as he comes in the door, and he groans. 

“Cruel.” He says, and drops into an offensive stance, swinging the quarterstaff around his wrist and waiting for Din’s first strike. 

\--

Luke is so sore that even getting out of bed is difficult the next morning- enough that Din only gives him a little shit for being late to breakfast. He’d actually slept last night though, and Luke can tell by the way that Din studies him, foot nudging against his ankle, that the other man notices. 

“Good dreams?” He asks, the question is innocent enough, but the way his foot nudges Luke’s legs apart, widening his stance, Luke knows he’s asking something else entirely. Luke merely digs into the coarse porridge they’ve set out in front of him and scowls. 

“Completely blank, thank you. Like floating through hyperspace.” Din huffs out something between a laugh and a scoff, steadying Grogu’s wobbling form and holding up something soft and brightly colored. Grogu coos, reaching for it, but Din pulls it back, cocking his head just so, and Grogu huffs, holding his hands up and little eyes closing. He perks up at the sight, watching with bated breath as the child's brow furrows, little mouth set in a frown, and flexes his fingers. 

The toy zips from Din’s hand to Grogu’s like a shot and Luke shudders at the influx of power.

“He’s getting good at that.” Luke observes, shoveling a bite into his mouth so that he won’t say anymore. 

“We’ve been practicing.” 

“Can he hold it, or is it just grabbing things he wants?” That…. Is a risky question, but Din doesn't seem to notice and shrugs. 

“I don’t know. I’m not a  jetii .” Luke hums, very aware of that fact, and finishes off his food without any more questions. Din leaves Grogu with him for the morning, stating that he doesn't need Grogu getting bored in another council meeting, and Luke takes that as Din needing a break. It’s bad enough for him to deal with the council, let alone watch a rather mischievous toddler through it, and Luke is glad to lighten his burden in any way that he can. Luke tells him they’re going to be by the fountain with the other children if he’s needed, and Luke goes straight there, sitting on the edge and watching the way the other foundlings and children run around, laughing and screaming and enjoying themselves. They draw Grogu into the fold as naturally as they would any other child, and they delight in the way he can lift stones and send them flying halfway across the courtyard before calling them back.

Luke only lets him do it a few times before telling him quietly to rest, and though the younger kids groan and pout,he gives them a look and they all choose to play a different game instead. Luke scoops Grogu up when he toddles over, hands raised, and he brushes his fingers over the fuzzy top of Grogu's head. Grogu coos happily at the touch, leaning into it, and he finds himself smiling, talking for no reason other than the fondness sitting heavy in his chest.

"You're a show off, just like your  buir, you know that?"

"I don't show off." A quiet voice pipes up, and Luke doesn't look up from his careful examination of Grogu's little face.

"Yes, you do." Luke hears Din give an argumentative little hum and he finally looks up, cradling Grogu to his chest to shield the sleepy tyke from the worst of the sun bouncing off of Din's armor. "I thought you had a meeting."

"I do. We need you there."

"Something to do with supply lines?"

"No." Din says, but Luke is already rising to his feet, intent to follow Din back to the Spire. Luke expects him to explain on the way, but he doesn't, oddly silent in what they need of him. It feels more and more like a march to a punishment than it does anything else, and by the time they make it to the Spire Luke is pretty sure that something is wrong. He doesn't ask, as much as he wants to, because maybe if he's cooperative they'll be a bit nicer to him, and Luke doesn't want a sticky situation if he can help it.

The war room is much the same as it was last time, but instead of a star map hanging in the space above the table another domed city does. Or at least what Luke assumes is an old city. The dome is gone, broken, and Luke can tell just by the scan of the city that it's a landmine waiting to collapse. Finally Luke can't take it anymore, and he peers curiously at the diagram while asking, "Why am I here?"

"You were a commander of the Rebellion." Din says, pausing for a moment to let Luke nod in agreement. "Tell me what you see."

"Well…" Luke gets as close to the table as he can, groaning when Paz hovers just a bit too close. The city's layout is much the same as this city, but the sweeping architecture and more delicate construction conveys a lighter touch. Luke frowns, remembering back through the rulers before Din, and starts at what he comes up with.

"This was the capital the Duchess built. It got hit hard in the last civil war, didn't it?"

"Good eye." The Armorer murmurs, Luke smiling and bowing his head toward her. "It holds somewhere in the city, a cache of information."

"And you want to go in with a team and get it. But what does that have to do with me?"

"Look closer at the map. Give us a report." Luke isn't quite sure where this is going, but Luke studies the layout of the city, picking apart weak spots and marking his way through the ruins. He points out weaknesses, areas liable to collapse, all the while plotting his course. His eyes fly over the image, putting together the best path to where the capitol building is near the center, and Luke blinks all at once.

"You want me to guide you through the city. Like I did with the supply run."

Someone agrees, he doesn't pay attention to who, and he frowns, lips pursed. "What makes you think I can?"

"It took you a day to learn the city, and you haven't gotten lost since." The Armorer supplies, and he blinks, unaware that anyone had noticed. He'd spent so long navigating the endless dunes of Tatooine that navigating a city with landmarks  other than sand was easy. Easy and all too quick to get in and out of. 

"The city isn't in good condition. I can't guarantee something won't happen if we take a wrong turn." 

"The team is small." Din replies, head turning toward Luke. "If you're uncertain-"

"I can do it, I just- it would be easier for me to go alone. In case something  did happen."

"Out of the question." Someone from the other side of the table snaps, and Luke stares at the rusty red armor the mandalorian wears. 

"You're under my protection while you're on Mandalore." Din murmurs, Luke's eyes flicking over toward him. "So I'll be joining the expedition, along with Paz and two others."

"So I can't go into a crumbling city alone, but I can drag the  Mand'alor  with me?" Luke means it more as a joke, but it comes out deathly serious and to Luke's surprise there are murmurs of agreement. None of them seem keen on potentially losing their king. 

But he doesn't get an answer, because all Din says in reply is, "Find us a path, Luke." 

And he does. It takes him a day of mulling over the holo, sometimes standing on the table to get a different vantage point and sometimes laying on the floor far away to see it from below, but he finds a path. It's long and winding and extremely tiring to even try and explain, so Luke doesn't, instead memorizing the path and walking his way through the current city four times just to ingrain it within his mind. 

They take a speeder through the sands to get to the city, and Luke has them pull up at the eastern gate. He leaves the group at the speeder for a moment, slipping into the city to look around just to make sure he remembers right before waving them forward. 

“Stay close.” The others nod, and Luke begins the trek into the city. All around him the buildings groan and wail, and he keeps a sharp eye on his surroundings. His skin crawls with the ghosts and echoes in the force around him- he’d been wary to step foot inside the city with its bloody history, but either he’s more used to ignoring it than he remembers or he’s too disconnected to feel it fully. 

He isn’t sure which one would be better.

Luke stops every so often at a junction to peer down the other roads, and at one particular intersection the road he wants to take is blocked off by rubble. He can tell from the lack of any true dust that it happened recently, and he stops, frowning and staring down the other roads. Neither of them look particularly safe, and one makes Luke’s skin crawl so badly he ignores it entirely. 

“Which way?” Paz asks, earning a sharp glare from Luke. Luke’s voice is near inaudible, not wanting to risk their safety by talking too loud. 

“Rubble is blocking the road we need, which means that path is too unstable to use.”

“So your path is useless?” Luke rolls his eyes at Paz’s smug tone, huffing quietly. 

“I just need to get us around the unstable sector of the city. Stay close, and stay silent.” It’s more a warning for Paz than anyone else. The other two mandalorians who had joined their group hadn’t said a word to Luke, and had only nodded their heads in a bow to Din. 

Luke chooses the path that feels the best to him, edging around cracks and fissures in the road and keeping his steps light. He stares at the buildings around him, crumbling and broken after the last war, and wonders how many times Mandalore is doomed to fall before finally being able to thrive. How many times is too much, until they’re better off finding a new planet?

He’s able to get them back to his planned route without much of a fuss, ducking through a couple of cramped alleyways to bisect the fallen road, and he can just see the rising dome of the capitol building when he hears a skitter of stone. It isn’t the first time their feet have dislodged a stone or rock, but the sound of a rock pinging off a wall and ricocheting is new, and Luke looks over at the mandalorian in red. She stares back at him, shoulders stiff, and he raises his hands, motioning for her to come over toward him slowly.

Something above them groans, low and pained, and Luke holds his hands out, waving and keeping her attention on him. “It’s okay. Soft steps.”

She nods though he can tell she’s beginning to spook, and he turns his head, motioning for the others to step back. Din doesn’t budge but Paz and the other mando do, inching back and away from him. He turns his attention back to her, smiling reassuringly, and reaches out again. “Prince-”

“I’ve got you.” Luke promises even as another groan rings through the air. She’s close enough that Luke snags her wrist, yanking her forward and up into his arms, keeping her feet off the ground as he spins and plants her over by the others. “See?”

“Thank you.” She breathes, and Luke smiles, winking and glancing around. He isn’t quite ready to move, not yet, and his gaze meets Din’s. Something warm bubbles up in Luke, settling his nerves, and he grins at the same time that a crack resounds through the air.

“Luke!” Din lurches forward as a tremor goes through the ground, and Luke takes a step back, away from him. “ Luke- ”

“Don’t move.” He commands, stopping Din in his tracks as he turns his face up. He glances at the buildings around him, waiting, and when the first large chunk of building begins to fall he looks back at Din. “Back up.” 

Din wants to argue, Luke can feel it in every molecule of his body, but there’s a roaring, aching power welling up inside him and his hands come up slowly. His fingers tremble as they spread wide in the air, and Luke looks at Din, heart breaking, and says, "I'm sorry."

A blast of power knocks the rest of the group back and away as dust and debris and metal rain down on them, small rocks pinging harmlessly off their armor. The sound of collapsing buildings is cacophonous, drowning out Din's shouts and pleads. Metal and stone cascade down, slamming into the sides of other buildings and dragging them down too. Din’s voice rises above the sound for an instant, and he’s still yelling when the sound reaches a crescendo. Just as it reaches its peak, pieces close enough to cast shadows, the sound stops.

The entire world goes silent, not even a breeze breaking the moment, and as the others struggle to their feet they notice that nothing is moving. Each individual dust particle, each huge slab of stone or twisted piece of metal hangs suspended in space, trembling faintly. 

Paz says something in Mando'a, but no one is listening close enough to hear it, all eyes on the person standing among the floating rocks, like a lone ship moored in an asteroid belt. 

Luke's eyes are closed, every inch of him shaking, and his hair and robes float around him as if he's lost the effect of gravity. His hands are still outstretched, but slowly his fingers curl in, and there's an awful crumpling noise, a shriek of metal and stone and breaking of glass, and each slab folds in on itself, smaller and smaller until they drop like pebbles onto the ground around them. His hands drop abruptly at the same time everything bursts back into sound, the wind howling through the city, and Luke is left standing among the scattered remnants of at least two separate buildings, breathing hard and oozing a power so strong that no one can step closer to him. When his eyes finally flutter open, pupils lost among the electric blue of his eyes, he finds everyone staring back, varying degrees of curiosity, betrayal and fear radiating from them. Luke doesn't move, afraid of what they'll do, and he hears one word scrape from all of their throats at once.

" Jetii."

Jedi. 


	11. The Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke must face the fallout, and hope they listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all... thank you as always, from the bottom of my heart for your comments and love <3 breaking 10k hits feels surreal, and the fact that anything of mine is even mildly popular is insane. Thank you for joining me on this journey!!

No one moves around him for a few, stilted minutes after that word is uttered. They don’t reach for him, don’t try to step into the field of _something_ radiating around him lest he turns his gaze on them. They stare at his chest, heads cocked, and Luke lets them. They stare as if the seat of his power was held there, and if they only plucked out his heart it would stop. 

Paz is the first to move, to wrench his arms behind his back and secure cuffs too tight around his wrists. Luke doesn’t protest the treatment, though his shoulders shake and his hair momentarily goes almost vertical when he squeezes his eyes shut. He hears four shuddering, scared breaths, and Luke’s heart shatters further, jagged edges scoring against his ribs with every breath. 

“I’m not going to fight.” He says, because it’s the only thing he can think to tell them when he cracks an eye open and Paz’s hand stays tucked close to his blaster. All of their hands are close, wary and wavering, and Luke swallows back a desperate scream of _I’m not your enemy._

Paz takes hold of his arm with his other hand, fingers digging in roughly, and Luke’s face pinches with pain as they haul him away from the evidence of his betrayal and back out of the city. There’s nothing that they can do now, not with the city as close to coming down around them as it is, and Luke stops two other collapses from killing them on the way out, hands clenched into fists behind his back and face contorted in pain and concentration. 

As if the effort of using his powers is a drain on his very being. 

Luke doesn’t try to break away, not even when he falls to his knees and Paz nearly wrenches his arm out of his socket getting him back up. The others are watching every move that he makes, counting every breath that he takes as if the air he breathes is actively being stolen from someone else's throat. Luke avoids meeting Din’s eyes, though he can feel him watching just the same as everyone else is. Can feel him staring, thinking, though what Din is feeling is as much a mystery to Luke as it’s ever been, even with the force slamming against his temples with pointed, overwhelmed agony. 

They load him into the speeder and take off, back toward the city where Luke knows they’ll decide his fate, fast and decisive. As they’ve done about everything else that truly mattered. Luke can’t even begin to imagine the things that they want to do, want to punish him for, just based on the bald fury radiating from Paz in such thick waves that Luke is briefly, deliriously angry at _himself_. Or maybe that isn’t Paz’s influence entirely- Luke feels his own anger, his own betrayal echoed back at him four times over, and when they get to the city, marching him back in handcuffs, that feeling magnifies a thousandfold, until Luke is half unconscious between Paz and the mando in red he’d saved only an hour ago. 

Somehow he manages to keep himself moving, feet shuffling in one step after the other, and he near sobs in relief when they finally let him go, let him sink to his knees on the cool stone of the throne room floor. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to the floor to give himself something to anchor to, a sensation that isn’t his, isn’t angry and flushed with heat. He feels when the council comes in, feels the familiar warmth of the Armorer until he listens, in slow, sharp words as Din talks, explaining what happened. Then, that warmth rises into a boil, confused and angry and wary. 

Luke is still on his knees, bent over with his forehead against the floor when he notices that the room has gone still. It takes him another stunned moment to collect himself, to sit back and shake his head, until his hair has settled back down against his skull and his robes aren’t billowing quite so unnaturally. His shoulders ache, his wrists burn with each shift of the cuffs chafing against his skin, but those are his own feelings, and he uses them to slowly push everyone out. Until he can breathe again, until he can think and look up at Din without being cowed by everyone else around him. 

“You’re a Jedi.” Is all he says, sharp and angry.

“The only.” Luke replies, shifting slowly until he can get his feet underneath him. He struggles to his feet, shaking himself out again, and shudders when Paz’s anger reaches a stabbing crescendo. Luke doesn’t have time or the will to stop him as an armored fist slams into his stomach, driving the air from him in a startled, pained wheeze. It takes everything that Luke has to stay standing, even as he shakes his head and blinks the blurriness from his vision. He’s somewhat recovered, half delirious with pain when Din speaks.

“Why did they send you?”

Luke laughs, empty and echoing. “Surely the Armorer told you that.” Din stills entirely on the throne, as if Luke has shot him. “You wanted her to watch me, didn’t you?”

“When did you figure that out?” Luke is surprised that it’s the Armorer who asks, helmet tipped to the side and emotions mostly unreadable. Luke’s laugh is sharper this time, though no less hollow.

“People don’t choose to be friends with me. Especially not ones who have the _Mand’alor’s_ ear.” It’s a sad, wilting truth, but Luke has accepted it. No one outside of Han and Chewie have ever been his friend just to be a friend, not since his rise to power and infamy, not since he became a Jedi, became _Luke Skywalker_ instead of just Luke, the boy from Tatooine. 

“Who are you, really?” Coming from Din, that hurts- Luke flinches at the question, though it’s only the shuttering of his expression and the faint flicker of the lights that allows anyone to know he’s reacting at all. When Luke doesn’t answer, looking down at his toes, he hears Din lean forward, voice more forceful this time. “ _Who are you?”_

“Luke.” He mumbles in reply, frowning and shaking his head. Meekness won’t do anything anymore, and he looks up, face tight. “Luke Skywalker. Rebellion Commander, last Jedi Master, Red 5- take your pick.”

“Not Prince?” Din’s question is meant as sarcasm, meant to be something cutting, but Luke laughs in something weirdly close to relief. 

“No, thank the stars. That’s what they commanded I pretend to be.” 

At that a rise of voices drowns out whatever Din might have been about to say- a chorus of protests, of calls for his death, his head, his removal from the planet. Din sits back, allows them to yell until finally he raises a hand, silencing them all. 

“Why did they send you here?” Din asks again, and this time Luke rolls his eyes and answers. 

“They don’t like unknown powers. They sent me to watch.”

“To destroy.” Paz spits, hot and accusing. Luke’s glare is so frigidly cold, so angry, that even the Armorer takes a careful step back. Luke’s expression warms only marginally when he looks at Din, perched atop his throne and watching him, that same bird-like tilt to his head. 

“I do not _destroy_. I’m not a Sith, and I have no interest in ruining a planet barely holding on.” The entirety of the room flinches back at that, and Luke’s expression empties for a moment before something sad overtakes him. His voice is softer, less biting when he speaks this time. “They told me I was sent to help, but I knew that’s not what they really wanted. If that was what they wanted, they would have let me come as I am.”

“A danger?” Someone chimes in, Luke waiting for the murmurs of agreement to die down. 

“A Jedi. One with a power that can help, as you four saw in the city today.”

“That-” Paz goes to argue, as Luke expects, and he rolls his eyes. 

“You’re alive. All of you. I _warned_ you that it would be better if I went alone. But I didn’t, and I _still_ brought him home. Would I have done that if I was here to destroy?”

No one disputes that- there’s no way that they _can_. Luke could have kept himself, could have kept his identity a secret and let all of them die in the city. But instead he stands here, having saved four mandalorians, including the king, and still allowed them to put him in cuffs. To drag him through the city in view of everyone, sick with the force and all of the emotions that churned around him. 

Din pauses, head tilting the other way now. “No, but you would do that to gain our respect.” 

Luke’s stomach bottoms out all at once when he realizes what they’re implying. “What have you told them?” Luke is surprised to hear the Armorer speak, and he grimaces, dodging another blow from Paz and keeping well out of his reach.

“ _Nothing_. I haven’t spoken to the Senate since I landed here.” 

“You spoke to Senator Organa.” Din corrects, and all the blood rushes out of Luke’s face. He stares, wide eyed, and begins to shake his head, faster and faster until eventually he stops for fear of falling over. 

“That wasn’t what the calls were about-” He starts, but Luke can already tell that half of the council have stopped listening, stopped caring. He pushes on anyway, pleading now. “She’s my _sister_ , we never talked about anything sensitive, and I never revealed anything that would hurt Mandalore. You’ve _heard_ some of them.”

“You can control what you talk about when I’m around.” Luke wants to rip his hair out at the roots in frustration, and he says the only other thing he can think might prove his innocence.

“Grogu knew. That’s how he found me in the desert, when you pulled your blaster. _That’s_ why he’s so insistent on being around me.” 

The name lashes the room into stunned silence, and this time when Paz comes for him he’s somewhat ready. He isn’t willing enough to hurt Paz purely to protect himself though, and he cries out when a fist connects with the already tender expanse of his stomach for a second time. Luke doubles over Paz’s arm, shaking, and Paz forces him to straighten up as his leg sweeps out, sending Luke careening back. He lands hard on his back, his arms and shoulders barking in pain and breath driving from him. His wrist breaks with a dull snap when he lands wrong on the cuffs, and Luke’s vision whites out. Faintly, he recognizes that he’s howling in pain, back arching off the ground as he lifts up onto his heels to relieve the pressure on his wrist. This time when Paz goes to touch him Luke’s head snaps up, eyes wide as Paz freezes in place.

His blood is filled with his own agony as he rolls out from under Paz, handcuffs falling away with a clang as he brings his right hand up to clutch at his left wrist. Terror claws its way up into Luke’s throat, choking him as he holds back his own tears and releases his hold on Paz when the other man’s panic surges sharply. Paz doesn't come after him again, and the rest of the room takes a collective step back when Luke’s wild eyed stare sweeps over them, keeping them back. Only Din seems to ignore Luke’s warning, fingers curled tight against the arms of the throne as he leans further forward.

“He is a _child_.” Din snaps, voice hard and unrelenting when the room quiets. “Do not speak his name again.” 

Luke knows it’s the only warning he’s going to get. 

“I told you when we met,” Luke says quietly, struggling to straighten up with his stomach aching the way it is, “That I didn’t want to be enemies.”

“You should have thought about that when you sat at my table, ate my food, and _lied_ to me.” Din nods his head then, and Luke only struggles a little bit to keep them from jostling his wrist as they take hold of his arms. 

Luke doesn’t fight the hold, though he knows he could easily break free- how long would it take him to fight his way out, to get back to his house, where his things are, where his lightsaber is hidden, neglected since he’d landed? How long would it take to slash his way through mandalorians armored against his weapon with only one good hand? How many lives would he have to take just to get home, to make mortal enemies of the people he’s spent the last four months helping?

Luke can’t stomach the thought of hurting any one of them, not even Paz, who nearly pulls his arm from his socket _again_ as he leads him through the halls of the Spire. He doesn’t know where they’re going, but it’s easy to assume, and when they begin their descent down worn stone steps Luke’s fears are only confirmed. They spiral down-down-down, deep into the bowels of the Spire, and Luke passes cell after cell, wondering just how far they’re going to go. Will they bring him deep enough that it’s too much effort to get to him, and then leave him there? Will they let him rot away in a cell until he’s forgotten? 

What do they do to the people they deem enemies, or spies?

What are they going to do to _him_?

They finally stop at a cell devoid of any light other than the weak lighting that lines the halls, and Luke can hardly see to put one foot in front of the other as Paz shoves him into the cell and keeps one hand on his blaster as the door drops shut. It clicks and seals with a faint hiss, and Luke is left staring through the bars that make up the only windows as he watches Paz’s murky, broad form melt into the darkness of the hallway. 

Luke waits for three minutes before screaming. At first it’s just to know that he’s still alive, that air is still pulling into his lungs, but it quickly turns to sobs and Luke doesn't bother to hold them back.

This deep underneath the Spire, buried beneath miles of stone and dirt and sand, the planet of Mandalore _howls_. It echoes and cries and rages through his bones, scraping against each and every soft part of him that still exists. Each prisoner’s screams, each wound and blast that the planet endured through each and every war razes through him, and Luke can’t stop it from coming. 

He’s too weak from stopping the avalanche, too open to the force, and it screams through him, leaving ash in his veins and glass in his bones. Luke is being strangled by it all, and he can feel the foundation of the floor rumbling underneath him, shaking him and everything in his cell and every person up on the surface above, unaware of what's happened to the only Jedi of the New Republic. 

\--

He can't get the sight of Luke kneeling on the floor, trembling, out of his mind.

There's a lot he can't seem to stop thinking about- entire buildings floating, compacting smaller and smaller as Luke's fingers curl inward. Dust mites, hardly big enough to be seen, stopped by whatever power Luke held. The pounding of his heart, so loud in his ears that he nearly doesn't hear the desperate, broken plea of "I'm not going to fight" that Luke had murmured when Paz put him in cuffs.

His own anger, pounding against his forehead as he walks from the throne room, back home to where Grogu has surely been making a mess, left alone when the Armorer was called. It isn't bad when he comes in, thank everything, because he feels as if one more problem would have him losing it completely after hearing Luke's screams, his insistence of his innocence. 

Instead, he focuses on making Grogu a snack as the kid babbles on the floor by his feet, playing with his toys. He's cutting open a jogan fruit, peeling the skin away when the ground shudders underfoot. No- no it's _quaking_ , the entire foundation moving, and he places the knife in the sink where it won't fall, stooping to pick the kid up. He stops at the sight of him, breath choking in his throat when he sees the fat, glimmering tears rolling down his cheeks and the sad droop of his ears. He scoops him up without a thought, shushing him and bouncing him in his arms, and tries to quell whatever is making him cry. The quaking stops after a prolonged minute, and Grogu's tears dry immediately, huge eyes peering up at him inquisitively. He stares back, dumbfounded, and with a sinking heart and stupid disbelief, realizes what's just happened.

Realizes what has just been let loose, has roared through the very core of the planet. The kid in his arm practically vibrates with it, sleepy and content, and something like fear steals his ability to draw a full breath.

\--

Luke blacks out sometime after the first hour, though it affords him no real sleep, no solace from the screams and agony, and when he comes to he doesn't know if it’s night or day or somewhere in between. His wrist throbs with every beat of his heart, swollen in his hand, and Luke drops himself into a healing trance as best he can, until his wrist only aches like a sprain. When he’s done, when he can rotate his wrist with only minor twinges, he opens his eyes. His stomach twists with hunger, he recognizes that, but it’s overshadowed by the pained, sluggish beating of his heart, of each breath that rasps in and out of his throat. He knew something like this would happen- he had tried to tell them, to tell the Senate that sending him here was a mistake, but he hadn’t been firm enough. Perhaps if he’d argued more, flat out refused he wouldn’t be here now, but-

But the thought of not coming here, of having never met Din, or Grogu, or the Armorer or Yiana or any of the people he’d come to call friends, that hurts more than whatever they’re planning on doing with him. The thought of Din’s pain, his anger carefully hidden among everyone else's in the throne room is enough to bring back Luke’s stunned, silent tears, and he wishes they would rip his heart out. Wishes they would take this pain away and replace it with something else if only for the relief of finally getting some peace. 

His first meal comes via blasterpoint, but Luke tucks himself as far back in the corner of his cot that he can and resolutely pretends he doesn’t see who brings it. It doesn't matter who brings it, who’s brave enough to venture down and think that a blaster would stop Luke from escaping if he really needed to. He won’t though, and when he eats the stale ration bar they brought it only makes his stomach feel worse. 

The water they bring is a relief to his scratchy throat, and he clutches the cup in his hands, sipping it slowly as he begins to build his mental walls, brick by brick. It only takes him what he thinks is half a day to solidify it enough that the screams are only a faint ringing in his ears, and by then he can focus enough to rise from the cot and work his way through some semblance of a workout. Being active, keeping himself moving helps whenever his thoughts start to get muddied again, and Luke doesn’t want to fall. The lack of light doesn’t bother him as much as he’d feared- the force more than compensates, but they get smart, and use the flashlights on their helmets to temporarily blind him when leaving his ration the next time.

That, well that pisses Luke off more than anything, because he still hasn’t fought, even when Paz hit him in front of everyone. In front of Din. So the next time light blazes in his eyes he pushes back, voice low and smooth as he tells whoever brought him food to turn around, go back upstairs, and bow in a specifically exaggerated way to their king. That maneuver earns him another beating from Paz and an armed guard at all times.

It doesn't stop him. 

When the lights don’t cease and they grow smart to his manipulating Luke takes it up a notch, paralyzing both his guard and the person delivering his food in a firm hold and walking straight out the door. He doesn't hurt a hair on their heads, but merely stands there, keeping them in his hold until someone comes down to investigate and finds Luke pacing the length of the hallway, his guard and deliverer still stuck in their same half lunged positions. 

Luke relinquishes his hold on them immediately when asked, drenched in sweat and panting when they throw him back into his cell. He gets two guards at all times and a third during mealtimes after that. Luke just takes his ration bar with a smile, biting into the hard crust and snapping a piece off as the door closes in his face. Luke has learned, after Yavin and after Endor and after everything else, that he can be a patient man. It’s only a matter of time before they grow bored of feeding and guarding him, and Luke can outlast them all. 

\--

He marks the passing of the days by the rotation of his guards. They switch out every nine and a half hours on the dot, and they’re always the same. He scores a mark into the wall for each day he’s down here in the dark, just to keep himself on track, though he doesn't think it’s going to matter soon. 

There’s been more and more murmuring among the guards who don’t know he can understand Mando’a, rumors and questions about what’s going to happen to him. Some talk about a public execution, something to show the Republic they aren’t going to bend under their thumb. Some talk about keeping him as a pet, the galaxy's only Jedi leashed to the king of Mandalore. Luke wonders just how they think they can make him do anything. 

He’s curled up on his cot, praying for sleep and knowing it won’t come when the force soothes against his battered mind, warm and happy and bright. Luke knows instantly who it is, and he sits up, lunging for the door and using a hard jolt of power to send the door flying up. Grogu is near indistinguishable in the low light filtering in from the hallway, but Luke’s eyes fill with tears at the sight of him and he crouches, sniffling softly. The guards hardly glance at him, used to the door opening whenever Luke craves more light.

“Hey buddy. Why are you here? I thought I told you you couldn't show up like this.” 

Grogu tilts his little head, cooing, and Luke feels the question that brushes over him, curious and confused. _Why are you here?_

“I did something bad.” He says, and Grogu’s fierce denial makes Luke wish he was deserving of it. Instead he shakes his head, taking Grogu’s little hand and smoothing his thumb over the back. “I lied to everyone, Grogu. You knew who I was, but no one else did. They don't feel the force within me, not like you.”

“How they didn't figure out sooner is beyond me.” Din’s voice bathes Luke in ice, and he leaps back, letting go of Grogu and flying against the wall with such force that there’s no way his jump was natural. Luke can feel his hair puffing up and he smooths shaking hands over it to try and tame it, despite knowing it’s a gnarled mess of knots already. 

“Din-'' Luke's voice cuts off as the other man stoops to pick Grogu up and step into the cell. Luke tries to make himself one with the wall as best he can, slowly inching over to his cot where he smushes himself back in the corner. "I didn't call him here."

"I know." There's no comfort in his voice but a shaky, weak sob cracks from Luke anyway and he watches, terrified, as Din leans against the far side of the cell. "You don't hurt children."

"I try not to hurt _anyone_." Luke shoots back, but he knows it's the wrong thing to do right now- aggressiveness won't get him far. Before, being meek was wrong, and now all he wants to do is curl up so that Din won’t see him as a threat. "Why are you here?"

"You asked for me." Luke shakes his head automatically, frowning. He hasn't said a word to anyone past taunting Paz in at least a week. "You toy with my people, Luke, and that's a message."

"I wasn't _toying_ -"

"You've given them nightmares. The ones you held." Luke’s anger and misery spikes suddenly, pressing against his forehead, and his face twists in a snarl.

"What about the nightmares _you've_ given me? That _Paz_ has given me? At least their nightmares don't include fixing broken bones." Luke snaps, drawing back further when Din pushes off the wall. But even then, Luke isn’t done, spitting words from his lips faster than Din could stop them. “At least they can rest easy once I’m dead, because I am the _only_ one who can do what they fear, and your son doesn’t have the training, so you can-”

"Did he touch you again?" Luke scoffs, pinning Din with a look and refusing to respond. Luke can see Din's shoulders tick in annoyance, and he wonders how he still remembers to read him. After a brief pause and a deep breath from Din, the king speaks again, voice softer this time. "I want you to explain."

"Oh, now my explanation is good enough? When I've been sitting in the dark for," Luke glances at the marks on his wall, "a week and a half?"

"Luke." Din whispers, and Luke presses a hand over his mouth to muffle the sharp, pained sound his name dredges up. "Please, help me understand why."

"I told you in the throne room. The Senate forbade me from revealing my title, but I tried- at first I was scared that you could kill me on some misguided attempt to follow your heritage, but you weren't like that. But it was all going too fast and I couldn't find a way to tell you without breaking my oath to the Senate and-"

"You didn't want to be an oathbreaker."

"My word and my Code as a Jedi are all I have." Luke tucks his legs up against his chest, resting his chin atop his knees and watching Din warily. “I should have told you from the beginning. I should have _told_ you, and I’ll carry that shame for the rest of my life.”

“You almost did.” Din says, but Luke doesn’t want to hear it, to think of all the times he’d hinted and almost let it out. “I understand why you did it.” 

Luke feels an echo of that night so long ago, when Din had held a blaster to his head, and he shudders, closing his eyes and turning his head away. “Please go.”

“No.” His hands clench around his calves, fingertips digging in, and he wants to lash out, to shove him out of the room and close the door himself, but- but he won’t. He can’t bear the thought of using the force that way, especially on Din, for selfish reasons. Luke feels the edge of the mattress on the cot dip, can feel the warmth radiating from Din- or maybe he’s just cold. His chest aches, but he doesn’t know if it’s temperature or his own stupid feelings. “I have more questions.” 

“I don’t know what answers I can give you.” 

“Give me what you can. That’s all I’ve ever asked.” Luke tries to make himself smaller as Din settles at the other end of the cot, unable to bear the thought of Din wanting to be close. When Luke nods finally, a short jerky movement Din sighs, and Luke listens to Grogu’s little coos and snores. Asleep, like always. “Did you really only come to rebuild?”

“Would I have let myself get shot, or beat by a stormtrooper, or let you press a blaster to my head if I was here for anything else?” Din makes a soft noise in his throat at the mention of what he did, but Luke continues on. “I could have stopped any of those moments. I could have avoided that blaster shot if I’d been able to use the force, I could have killed that stormtrooper with a twitch of my finger, and I could have thrown you so far you wouldn’t have been able to find me before I was gone.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I wanted to help.” The last word trembles on Luke’s lips, and he has to take a deep breath before he asks, “Do you know why I learned Mando’a?”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted a home. Because- be-” Luke scoffs angrily at his own weakness, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “I didn’t want to be left behind.”

Din hums quietly, as if considering his words. As if weighing them against the beast he’s created in his mind. Luke allows it, allows Din to judge him, to weigh whether he’s worthy. “The day you got shot- your moment, what caused it?”

“The Darksaber.” Luke can feel it even now, hanging heavy on Din’s hip, quietly singing as it always has. “Everything holds echoes of the past, and the Darksaber has a long and bloody history. This _planet_ is no better- I can hear it sing, even in my sleep.”

“Sing?” Luke nods, and his voice is scratchy and ghostly when he quietly hums what must be part of what he hears. It’s haunting and dissonant in a way that seems impossible for Luke to do on his own, but he isn’t alone- Grogu coos along softly, ears twitching, as if he can hear it too. Luke cuts off at the sound of Grogu’s little voice, and he reaches out, gently touching his forehead and shushing him quietly. “He can hear it?”

“Through me.” Luke whispers, as if the thought breaks his heart. A hollow edge wraps around Luke’s voice, and he pulls his hand away, as if remembering himself. “Don’t let him come back down here. It’s cold, and he can’t fight off the echoes like I can. What else do you want to know?”

“Explain the echoes.” 

“They’re memories, in essence. Small gatherings of emotions or images that people who are force sensitive can hear.”

“And you hear them.” Luke laughs weakly, nodding. “Can he?”

Luke doesn’t need to look their way to answer, instead closing his eyes. “He doesn’t have enough focus. It’s good, means he won’t get overwhelmed easily.”

“Do they keep you awake?” 

Luke’s eyes fly open, and he catches the profile of Din’s helmet as he turns to look at Luke. Luke doesn’t know whether to kiss him, hit him, or both. Luke laughs, first in disbelief, then in genuine humor. “Of course you’d be worried about that.”

“You didn’t answer.” Din points out, and Luke tilts his head, staring. 

“Yes,” Luke finally replies, “They keep me awake, or wake me up. It’s why you found me in the desert so often- out there it’s… Quieter than the city.”

“And here? With the… Singing?” 

All the humor drops away from Luke, and he abandons his spot on the cot to pace the length of the room. It doesn’t seem like a conscious choice, more like Luke has been reminded of something he’d rather forget, or something he has to do, and he doesn’t have a way to do it. The fingers of Luke’s right hand find his left wrist, as if it still bothers him, worrying away at the skin. “I think you should go.”

Din doesn't press his luck a second time, and for that Luke is grateful. “Okay.”

Din moves slowly so as not to wake Grogu, and he lingers outside the cell, watching as Luke’s fingers move to drift across his lips, tracing the seam in unconscious thought. Finally the door seals shut, and Luke murmurs as Din leaves. “I haven’t slept since they brought me down.” 

He gets no reply, doesn’t expect to, but at shift change that morning the lights in his room flare to life, blinding him. He expects something to happen, for the door to open, but no one comes- instead the lights stay on for exactly nine and a half hours before turning off. They continue to do so, every morning turning on in a sudden flare of brightness, and every night snapping off, plunging Luke back into the familiar sweep of darkness. Oddly enough, it helps Luke sleep- for the few moments between lulls in time when his body allows him to relax. He’s only there for another day until they move him, and his cell this time is so close to the surface that there’s actually a window, just a narrow little strip of glass that lets sunlight and warmth trickle in. 

The move and the lights only make Luke more certain that he’s going to die. Perhaps they want him to be happy, content enough not to fight back. Maybe he’ll let them, if they ask him nice enough. Or maybe that’s the sleep deprivation talking to him, because Luke _really_ doesn’t want to die, and he’s not going to let them think he does. His room is brighter and warmer and overall nicer than the dank cells deep in the ground, and Luke finds himself more and more drawn to his bed, to the escape of climbing under his blankets and hiding himself away. He succumbs to it more often than he should, when he’s too sore to continue pushups or jumping in place or tossing himself around the room with the force. 

If he’s going to die, or be enslaved, he might as well try to be well rested.


	12. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does one do in prison?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wish i could keep up with all your comments, but know I'm reading them and i ADORE them!

Luke has grown, so, so bored. 

There’s only so much to do in his cell, and working out or sleeping or meditating can only carry him so far. He tries not to meditate if he doesn't have to, because every time he does Anakin has something smart to say. He doesn’t need anymore ‘I told you so’s than he’s already gotten, which is one too many, and Anakin’s insistence that he breaks out isn’t helping either. 

But he has to meditate eventually, if only to calm the build up within him, to quell the anger at his treatment, and so he sits in the middle of the room, hands on his lap and eyes closed. He slips into a familiar drifting calm, and when he opens his eyes he isn’t surprised to see Anakin waiting for him, sitting on his cot and watching him with a grin on his face. 

“ _ You can still leave.” _

“I told you, I want to stay alive.”

“ _ You aren’t setting a very good example of the Jedi’s power.” _

“Oh, like you did?” Luke shoots back, and it’s mean but Anakin only dips his head, conceding his point. “I think I’m setting a  _ better _ example.”

“ _ Maybe. Have they told you what they plan to do?” _

“No, but I have a feeling it’s not good. They let me take a shower yesterday.”

“ _ Death for sure.” _ Anakin agrees, drawing a laugh from Luke. “ _ How long are you going to stay here?” _

That sobers him, and he frowns. “I don’t know.”

“ _ Why don’t you ask to go home? Why don’t you leave?” _

“I-” He doesn’t know how to answer that. How does he tell him his reasoning? Maybe, maybe by beginning? “I’m afraid.”

“ _ Of what?” _

“Of what will happen when I do. When I pack my things, claim my saber again and go home. What will happen here. What I’ll bring raining down on my head.”

“ _ Nothing would- _ ”

“They’d make me kill him. They’d make me- they don’t want me anymore than he does. They sent me here to  _ die _ .” Panic claws its way into his chest, but he heaves a breath and shoves it away, shoves it out into the force where Anakin waves a hand, dispelling it. “I know it. I  _ know _ they did but- but maybe that’s the Skywalker in me. Hoping for a better resolution.”

“ _ Aren’t you angry? At the Senate? At the big blue guy?” _

“Furious.” He whispers, and the admittance is poison, but it’s been eating away at his veins for days now. Talking about it- maybe it’ll help. Like letting a wound bleed to dislodge stones. “I did everything they asked.  _ Everything _ , and all I got was- a broken wrist and this  _ fucking _ cage.”

His forehead throbs, whole body hot, and he takes a deep breath, holding it. He holds it until his lungs feel fit to burst, and then lets it out slow. He does that three times, forcing a little of his anger out each time until his head only faintly throbs. It wasn't fair. They had a right to be angry, he knew, understood that, but what happened in the throne room? That was shameful. That was fear, twisted on its head and given free reign. When he opens his eyes Anakin is smiling at him, pride written across his face. He smiles weakly in response just as the door opens behind him with a hiss. Anakin glances up behind him, lips twisting in a sarcastic smile. “ _ You get a lot of visitors for a prisoner.” _

“It’s my winning smile.” Luke finally looks away from Anakin, glancing over at who’s in the doorway, and finds Din leaning, much as he always does, against the wall across from the door,watching him. Luke blinks, letting the last dregs of his meditation draw away from him, and he raises a brow, not moving from his spot on the floor. 

“Who were you talking to?”

“My dead father.” Din’s head tilts, curious, and Luke considers slamming the door in his face before he indulges him. “Force users go back to the Force upon death, and those of us still alive can see them.” 

“... All the time?” Luke glances at the uncomfortable set of Din’s shoulder, cocking his head to the side and watching as he tries not to fidget. The thought bothers him, and Luke’s smile grows from something small and pleased to huge and smarmy. Din huffs quietly, crossing his arms, and Luke rises to his feet, stepping up to the edge of the doorway. 

“Something wrong?”

“... No.” But Luke can tell there is, and he only jumps a little when Anakin materializes next to Din.

“ _ He thinks I watched you two.”  _ Luke’s nose wrinkles immediately at the thought, but a laugh bubbles up in his chest and he doesn’t bother to hold it back. The thought is so ludicrous that it’s funny, and Luke hasn’t laughed this hard in days- so he laughs long and he laughs hard, wiping at his eyes and glancing at Din before laughing again. 

“You didn’t see us high five?” Din’s strangled noise sets Luke off again, and he curls over, pressing his hands to his knees as he laughs. Din’s discomfort is palpable and Luke feels a little bad for dragging it out, but Anakin is laughing too and Luke can’t keep a straight face for more than a few seconds. 

Din squirms uncomfortably, if the small shifting of his shoulders and clenching of his hands could be considered squirming. Finally Luke takes pity on him, sighing softly and biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing again. 

“I only see him in certain headspaces, and that was never one of them.” Luke assures, and surprisingly, Din relaxes. “You don’t like an audience?” He teases, Din snorting and moving to take a few steps closer. They’re almost toe to toe, separated only by the doorway, but Luke is far too comfortable with Din for his own good, and he raises a brow. Laughing is good,  _ very _ good, but bitter regret weighs on his shoulders like a shroud. “What brings you to my cell, Din?”

“Did you want to go outside?”

“No.” He says, and it’s only because if he goes outside he knows people are going to stare. Going to point and jeer or ask too many questions. Luke winces at the way Din goes still, and he finds himself wanting to explain. “I don’t want to be paraded, and I’d rather not feel everyone’s hate.”

“You feel their hate?”

“I feel all their emotions.” Luke admits quietly, and he glances over at the small window, his only sliver of sun. “I try not to, and others are harder to read, but it’s like- looking at something and trying not to see it. It doesn’t always work.” 

“Have you always felt it?”

“Since I became a Jedi. I only got faint feelings while here- I was suppressing myself, so it was easier to ignore.” Luke pauses for a moment, looking Din over, and he can see when Din tenses, but his feelings are as elusive as they’ve always been, even with Luke at full capacity. “I don’t know how you feel.” He confesses, and Din’s shoulders relax some. 

“Good.” 

Luke tries not to let that hurt as Din backs away, turning to nod to the guards before disappearing down the hall. Din’s visits are sporadic and often leave Luke feeling more confused about his place, and this visit is no different. He knows that Din cares for him in some way, since he’s left him alive this long, but he doesn’t know how long it’s going to last. How long before his feelings rot, and all that’s left behind is resentment for what Luke is. What he did. 

But Din keeps showing up. Sometimes it’s during the day, while Luke is worrying away at a ration bar. Sometimes it’s at night, when Luke is sat on his cot, leaned against the wall and not even pretending to sleep. Something passes between them in those moments of silence where the world sleeps, and Luke’s heart hurts every time to see him through the bars of the door, or far enough away that Luke can’t touch him. Not that he deserves to touch him. Luke holds the memories of his time with Din, however fleeting, close to his heart, where their lingering warmth kindles the small flame in his chest. His last conversation with Leia bounces around in his head, taunting him. Din had never said a word, never asked, and Luke doesn't know how much he heard before interrupting them. He doesn't know if Din heard his whole stupid confession, and he's just relieved to have a reason to get rid of him. Part of him wonders if this is karma for trying to let himself be attached- to let himself break a fundamental rule of his Code. 

In the times that Din doesn’t show up though, Luke allows himself to play. He hasn’t used the force in any real way since his first night down in the lower cells, when he’d held his guards captive for a few hours before someone showed up, and Luke needs the practice. 

He starts by continually opening and closing the doors, though that takes hardly any effort at all and Luke quickly grows used to the movement. After that he moves to lifting his blankets and pillow, swirling them through the air in increasingly strange patterns. The fluidity of the blanket makes for an interesting balance, and Luke spends far more time than he needs to just making it dance through the air. Once he’s done with that he floods the small sink in the room and draws the water into the air, letting it float in blobs and shimmering drops. 

Water is probably his favorite thing in the cell to manipulate, and it’s mostly because of the concentration it takes. If he isn’t careful, attuned to each and every drop, water rains down on him, and while it isn't unpleasant Luke doesn't enjoy sitting around in wet clothes. He may or may not snake the water out of the room and drench one of his guards with it later, but he's laying in bed, innocent as can be when they open the door, dripping wet and mad beyond belief. Luke only sits up, feigning confusion, and asks if it was raining before their shift. 

Not that Luke has ever seen it rain. 

He does it at least once to every guard they put in his rotation, and once to a very stunned, very unamused Din. Luke laughs until his stomach hurts seeing Din come in, red cloak dripping wet, and he doesn't even fight when Din walks over and wrings it out over him. He only laughs harder, raising his hands to catch the drops and swirl them around Din's head, letting the drops reflect the black and silver and gold on his armor. 

They shut the water to his sink off completely when people grow tired of chafing, and it isn't until Luke swears not to do it again that they turn it back on. True to his word he stops soaking people, though he doesn't stop practicing- it just goes back into the sink when he's done instead. 

After the water incident, Luke gets crafty. The guards are used to his shenanigans by now, the unnatural things he can do with the force, but to them it's a toy. Something Luke does merely to entertain himself. They aren't wrong, at least not right now, but Luke doesn't want them to get too comfortable, to underestimate him. So one morning right before shift change he carefully floats himself up until he's plastered against the ceiling, curled up right in front of the door so they can't see him from the windows into the cell. He gets himself comfortable, folding his hands into his sleeves, and waits.

No one notices for six hours. 

Luke is shaking with the concentration it takes, but it feels good to stretch this particular muscle out, and he has to bite his lip hard to keep quiet when he hears a panicked swear and his guards rush to open the door. They come into the cell with blasters raised and well,  _ that _ isn't part of the plan, but Luke can adapt. He lets them look around for a solid minute, peering under the cot and looking for evidence of an escape before Luke laughs.

He's never seen two mandalorians nearly jump out of their armor the way that he does just then, and he ducks, pulling himself rapidly across the ceiling and redirecting a couple of the blaster bolts shot his way on instinct. They bounce around the room for an instant before pinging harmlessly off the mandalorians armor, and Luke laughs at the disgruntled noises they make as they shove their blasters back into their holsters. 

"Get off the ceiling." One of them commands, but Luke only raises a brow, as if considering.

"No." 

"Get  _ down  _ before-"

Luke stands up, and now he's face to face with them, though he's upside down, and keeping just his feet on the ceiling is an ordeal in itself. "Before what? I get grounded? You take my toys away?"

"Before you get pulled down." Luke bristles at the reply, and he turns slowly to glare at Din, who nods his head for the other two to leave as he steps into the room. "Get off the ceiling, Luke."

"I like it up here." He says before sinking- or raising? Back into a sitting position on the ceiling. "Think I might take a nap even."

"You're being a brat."

"Seeing as I am in metaphorical political limbo, I think I'm allowed to act how I please." Luke peers at his nails while he says it, as if he could care less about Din despite the way his heart flutters in his chest. 

"You don't think that will make me want to kill you?"

Din's vibroblade slips out of his boot and hovers in front of his hand as Luke looks at him expectantly, tilting his head just so to bare more of his throat in offering. "I won't stop you."

Din freezes, staring, and Luke stares back, not moving when Din takes his knife into his hand, fingers wrapping around the hilt. Something crackles through the air, supercharged, and he never takes his eyes off of Din, waiting with his throat bared. They stand there in tense silence for a moment before Din drops to a knee and shoves his blade back into his boot, rising back to his feet and walking close enough that he can stretch up and get a hand in Luke's hair. Luke gasps at the first hard tug and he stretches into the touch, peeling off the ceiling slowly until Din can grab his arms and wrench him the rest of the way down. Luke floats there, suspended in empty air for a moment before his hold on gravity fails and his feet slam into the ground, jarring him as his head remains in Din's hand. 

"That isn't fair." Luke says quietly, and his voice is enough to break whatever has built between them. Din's hand drops from his hair, the king stepping away from him completely, and Luke closes his eyes so that Din won't see the pain he can't hide. When he opens his eyes again Din has a hand stretched toward him, and Luke catches his wrist, slipping his thumb between his glove and vambrace to rub along the skin there. The brief touch of skin is enough to set off a chain reaction in Luke, and his breathing goes ragged, thumb sweeping further into Din's sleeve to edge along the tendon flexing under Din's movements. "I can't hang here forever, Din. Please."

"Just a little more." Din swears, and Luke is surprised to find his voice is as rough and breathless as Luke expects. Luke hears Din murmur his name and it's too much- shame sweeps through Luke in such a forceful wave that his knees go weak, and he drops Din's wrist as if burned, shaking his head. 

"I'm sorry." He can't even say what for- there are a thousand things he wants to apologize for, to beg Din's forgiveness for, but it isn't his place to demand. It isn't his place to want forgiveness when he causes every problem that stands in their way now. 

“I know.” Din mutters, and Luke doesn’t know what he’s referring to, but his heart aches all the same. After a moment Din steps back and motions toward the door. “Let’s go.” 

“Where?”

“You stink.” Luke should be offended, but he can’t argue, and instead he only laughs, letting Din lead the way. He’s quiet while he walks, keeps his eyes down so that he won’t spot anyone he knows, and ducks into the refresher as soon as he can, heading for the shower furthest from the door. It affords him the most privacy, which while it isn’t much, is better than standing right by the door. Luke has his shirt off and is working at his pants when he notices that Din hasn’t left, and he turns, raising a brow and resting his gloved hand on his hip. 

“Are you going to watch?”

“Will it bother you if I do?”

Luke shrugs, heart picking up, and his nonchalance is only half faked. “Not really. You  _ could _ be useful and get me a change of clothes instead, but if you miss the view…”

Din snorts at that, but he doesn’t deny the statement, and after a moment he nods stiffly. “What do you want?”

“It’s all black, grab something and bring it over.” Din nods again, and Luke takes it either as misplaced trust or maybe some kind of test that he’s left alone. He isn’t going to run, especially not when he can chance having a shower, so he stays in the refresher and basks in the hot water. 

He knows he only has a few minutes before the water will turn off, so he scrubs himself and washes his hair with methodical efficiency, enjoying the water as long as he can. He’s finished and trying to tug knots out of his hair when Din finally comes back, and Luke has to fight not to turn around and cover himself. This is a test as much as anything else is, this trust, and Luke glances over his shoulder when Din’s attention rakes over him before drawing firmly up to his face and staying there. 

He holds his hands out for the clothes and waits patiently as Din debates, hesitating for a second before walking closer. Goosebumps rise over Luke’s skin the closer he gets, and he smiles when he sees that Din has gotten more than just clothes- he brought everything he could need, and Luke’s chest burns with affection at the careful consideration. The more he's seen of Din these past couple of weeks the more he wonders. Was it him keeping him locked away? Or was it his council pressuring him? Did he act alone? He tries not to think much on it yet, glancing at him and trying for a smile. Luke bobs his head in thanks and works to get dressed, humming at what Din has brought him. It’s…. Probably his most flattering outfit, and one that Luke pointedly hasn’t worn since he got here. 

It’s the only outfit Din hasn’t seen him in, and Luke doesn’t know if he picked it out with that thought in mind or if it’s mere coincidence. Luke slips into it easily, doing the buttons on the panel across his chest and tucking his shirt into his pants. The belt is more a statement piece than anything, but in a way Luke feels as if he’s gearing up for war, strapping himself into the same outfit he faced his father in. 

“You never wore this one.” Ah. Luke doesn’t bother trying to hide the pleased shock that dawns across his face, and he turns to Din while idly brushing over a button at his throat. 

“It’s too formal for what I was doing before.” He says, shrugging and running a comb through his tangled hair. He never thought he would miss brushing his hair so much. “I didn’t think mandalorians paid attention to what people wore.”

“They don’t.” The implied  _ I do  _ shocks through Luke, and he hums quietly. “Why do you wear black?”

“Why do you?” Din makes a noise in his throat that Luke knows is one he makes whenever Luke avoids a question, and Luke huffs before touching Din’s elbow, heading back for the door and his cell. “It’s easy, and it- reminds me of my father, the balance I hold between the Dark and the Light.”

“Dark and Light.” Din says it as a statement but Luke catches the question in it anyway. 

“You’ve heard of the Jedi- they use the Light side of the force. The Sith, on the other hand, use the Dark.”

“You?” Luke pins him with an annoyed look, but if it affects him Luke can’t tell. “Have you ever been a Sith?”

“Almost.” Luke is quiet for most of the trek down to his cell, mulling over the words, and it isn’t until he’s back in the familiar confines of the room that he turns to Din and murmurs, “That’s a story for another day. Particularly one I’m not a captive for.” 

Din doesn't say anything back, and Luke closes the door between them, shutting himself away.

\--

Luke wakes up the next morning to people rushing above him. He doesn’t even stop to think about what leaving his cell might mean, he merely pops the door open and pokes his head out. His guards tighten their grip on their guns, watching him, but Luke merely smiles, raising his brows.

“What’s going on upstairs?”

“Don’t know. The  _ Mand’alor’s _ been raising hell all morning.” 

“ _ Has _ he?” Luke mulls that bit of information over, holding his hand out for the ration bar he knows they have. Half the time he was asleep during breakfast, and his bar went uneaten until he opened the door and held his hand out, taking it and retreating back into his cell. It’s become a bit of a game, to see how much Luke can get away with opening his door before they try to find some way to stop him.

They haven’t bothered yet. 

Ducking back into his cell now, he rips the package to the bar open with his teeth to get at the bar inside. It’s hard, as always, but when he opens the package the scent of dried fruit hits him. Luke takes one bite, curious, and devours the rest of it, toughness be damned. He hasn’t had anything other than vaguely savory flavors, and the tartness of the fruit is such a welcome relief that he forgets to savor it. He’s almost disappointed in himself, but his stomach isn’t grumbling anymore and he’s relaxed enough that he might as well go through his daily routine. 

He works out as best he can, but he doesn’t feel like getting overly sweaty in his nicer outfit and instead he focuses on working with the force some more. He can hear his guards grumbling when the sink turns on, but Luke has been good since they told him to stop and he only weaves the water in and out of the bars, eyes narrowed in concentration and fingers twitching in his lap. He’s been trying to use the force without moving his hands if he can help it, but somehow not moving, keeping his hands tucked in his lap seems harder. Luke gets a solid hour of moving the water with barely a twitch of his fingers before he dumps the water down the drain, settling in the middle of the room with his legs folded. 

He calms his mind, slowing his breathing and letting his heart rate slow as the force ebbs and flows around him. It’s been a relief and a curse to be connected again, to truly feel everything around him, and Luke sinks into his meditation, letting the force race through his veins in time with his heart. Luke can feel Yiana in the square, playing with her friends and full of such saccharine light that Luke’s teeth ache, and just past the atmosphere a new pilot’s anxiety flares as they guide their ship into open space. Luke remembers the first time he’d flown on his own, truly alone, with only Artoo to guide him if he got lost. 

He can also feel anger, anxiety, sadness above him, faint and wispy. Luke latches on to those feelings, wanting to help, but when his own consciousness brushes against the feeling, letting his own calm expand, those feelings shutter and close off completely. Luke is almost knocked from his meditation by the sudden force behind it, and Luke hums quietly, reaching out again curiously but keeping back far enough that his own emotions don’t get in the way. He manages to get a faint brush, but he can’t seem to find the same person again and the commotion above him is getting louder and louder. 

Closer and closer.

Luke wonders if this is finally the moment they’ve decided they’re sick of it, and if so Luke is going to be ready. He draws the force close to him, draping it around him like a cloak, and waits. He keeps himself within his meditative calm, listening as footsteps grow closer, as the guards snap to attention and murmur greetings to their king. Luke listens as they stop, voices too low for him to hear, and he draws in a deep, slow breath, holding it as the door slides open. 

Luke nearly rocks back at the feeling of who’s behind the door, and his eyes snap open in disbelief. Luke takes in the sight of a smart, sleek suit, pristine white, and the slim cloak that drapes from her shoulders. He stares at the crown of dark braids, carefully plaited and arranged just so, and finally when his eyes meet hers, everything inside of him comes rushing to the surface. The room roils with his power- with  _ hers _ , and he's laughing, laughing and crying and glancing once at Din before he speaks.

“ _ Leia _ .” 

She opens her mouth to say something back, but Luke is on his feet and crossing the room in an instant. She moves at the same time that he does, arms coming up and locking around his neck as he sweeps her up in a hug, whole body shuddering as he crushes her close and stands there in the middle of the room, swaying as her feet dangle. He doesn’t care about looks, he doesn’t care who could be watching or how odd she looks, dressed in white, pure beyond belief against the rough cut of all his black and power. She's warm and unyielding in his arms and he's never missed her more, never loved the sight of her suits and braids more than he has now. 

He hasn’t seen her, truly seen her in more than four months, and he feels like he can breathe in a way he couldn’t before. 

He faintly hears her saying his name, feels her hands smoothing over his shoulders, and he blinks, letting the force fall away from him in a hard gust of power. Leia shivers at the feeling, but no one else responds, and he reluctantly sets her back down, grinning like a fool the whole time. 

“ _ Look _ at you. Have you been eating?” Luke laughs at her fussing, taking a respectful step away so that she can get a better look. She’s frowning while she looks at him, but Luke can tell she isn’t actually angry- just worried. 

“They feed me twice a day, just like everyone else.”

“Only twice?”

“Eh, you get used to it pretty quick. I’m usually so busy I don’t even notice that I’m hungry until I’m sitting down for dinner.” Luke looks her over now, placing a hand on his chin to exaggerate the look as she rolls her eyes. “You look radiant as always, Leia. How are we twins?”

“Through your pure luck.” She deadpans, drawing a soft, genuine laugh from him. “Let’s walk upstairs.”

“Oh, they’re allowing that now?”

“It’s not like I can kidnap you.” Leia says, but there’s a spark of mischief in her eyes and Luke shakes his head. He doesn't know when Din walked away, but they're alone, Leia's arm in his, and he's never been more grateful to know such a confusing king. He lets her lead the way up and into the main building of the Spire, but the closer he gets to going outside, to seeing the sun again the more nervous he gets. 

“You’re sure that Din allowed this? I don’t want to get shot, Lee, that hurts.”

“You’ll be fine. Baby.” But for all her bravado she doesn’t stray outside either, and instead ducks into the relay room, where there’s some semblance of privacy. Luke gives Leia a moment to look around the room she’s seen through holos before he crosses his arms, pinning her with a look.

“You’re not visiting.” Leia glances up, face carefully controlled, and she arches a brow. “I’m not stupid, Leia.”

“I know you aren’t. Well, you might be a little.” Luke scowls at her, but she only sighs, sitting down in one of the chairs still in the room. “I was able to ask for your release.”

“My release? You came here to get me  _ released _ ?”

“Of course I did.” She snaps, and Luke takes a deep breath, holding it for a moment while she talks. “I told the Senate this was a bad idea from the beginning. And now they’re panicking, because you aren’t doing anything here but they don’t have you  _ back _ -”

“What did they want?”

“What?”

“What,” Luke asks, deathly quiet, “Did the  _ Mand’alor _ ask for?”

“Nothing.” Leia says, and Luke shakes his head automatically. That can’t be the truth. “He said he would release you if you swore never to step foot back on Mandalore, but I feel that’s a fair trade for you to be free.”

“Free?  _ Free? _ Is that what I am, Leia? When I clean up every mess that the Senate makes, when I smooth over any situation that might be hairy just because of who I am? When they get to  _ vote _ about my life without my say so?"

“Luke-”

“I am more free here as a prisoner than I have  _ ever _ been on Coruscant working for the Senate. Here I am not a  _ puppet _ dancing on strings I don’t even own. Here, they ask if I want to be part of a mission, and respect when I say no.” Luke clenches his jaw at the sudden aching anger that throbs along his forehead and up his skull, and he takes a deep breath before he softens his tone. “I would do anything you ask, Leia, but I won’t do this.”

“I can’t help you if you’re here.” She pleads, and Luke shakes his head. “If I leave this planet alone it might be the last time I see you.”

“It won’t be. Have some faith in me, Lee.”

“It’s not you I distrust.” 

“He’s a good man- noble even, almost annoyingly so. His people are good, they’re just- afraid.” 

“You really trust him?”

“With my life, as stupid as that sounds.” Leia laughs, eyes wet with unshed tears, and Luke moves to kneel in front of her, taking her hands in his. She grips his robotic hand tight, as if reminding herself of what he’s survived, and nods at him. “Go home, Lee, go kiss that annoying husband of yours and tell Artoo that I’ll be back, sooner or later.”

“Tell him what you told me, Luke. Don't let his council hear. They're the ones I had to fight with." Luke nods, face calm, and finally Leia stands from her chair, Luke rising to his feet and sweeping her into another bone crushing hug. She squeezes back just as hard, and Luke’s sides still ache when he watches her head for the port. He stands in the doorway of the Spire, listening to the echo of the force around her until a New Republic ship takes off, and only once he watches her pass out of the atmosphere does he turn around, heading for the throne room, and the man sitting with his life in his hands. 


	13. The Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke confronts the Mand'alor- and proves something in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting so, so close to the end guys! I love seeing all your comments, and hope you enjoy!

Luke steels his nerves as he heads through the quiet halls of the Spire, knowing what he has to do. What he needs to say to Din, and only Din. He doesn’t want the council to lean on him, to pressure him in any way. He wants this decision to be Din’s, and Din’s alone. No one tries to stop him when he walks to the throne room, but the guards at the door rest their hands on their blasters and Luke rolls his eyes. He doesn’t bother saying anything to them, just shoves through the doors and waves a hand to close them behind him.

Din’s council is waiting for him. 

Luke raises a brow at the sight of them, lingering on the Armorer’s gold helmet. He focuses on her actually, knowing of all the people he needs to convince it’ll be her. 

“I want to talk to him.” 

“You’re supposed to have left.” The Armorer muses, though from her tone Luke infers she’s pleased he didn’t. “Was our bargain not good enough?”

“I want to speak to him.” Luke says again, “One monarch to another.” 

Luke winks at that, because he's in no way a monarch, and he catches the quiet huff of a laugh from the Armorer at that. The rest of the council isn’t so easily swayed, least of all Paz, who takes one step forward before Luke’s attention slides to him and all his muscles lock. Luke watches him strain, never blinking.

“Let go of me, _Jetii_.” He spits, but Luke remains unphased, holding him there without moving a finger. 

“Does it bother you, Paz? Being unable to do a thing to stop me?” Luke regards him cooly, head tilted, before he lets him go, Paz jerking forward and nearly falling when he’s finally able to move. “I want to talk to him, and I think,” Luke glances at Din sitting on the throne, “That he wants to hear what I have to say.”

He can feel Din observing him through the visor, and there’s no more hesitation as Din nods. “Leave us.”

“But _Mand’alor_ -'' Din cuts their protests off with a wave of his hand, and Luke folds his hands in front of him as he waits for them to shuffle out. Paz hesitates the longest, and Luke very pointedly shoves him out with a flutter of his fingers. The door slams behind them a bit harder than necessary, and then Luke steps up to the throne, standing at the bottom of the steps and watching him for a moment. 

“You’re still here.” 

“I am,” He agrees, lips turning up in a small, hesitant smile. “And before you yell at me, or cut me down with your saber, or do anything really, I want you to listen.”

“Demanding.” Din murmurs, Luke laughing and nodding his head. “Go ahead.”

“I want to stay.” Din’s head cocks to the side, but Luke pushes on. “The Senate has used me for their missions since the war ended. At first I didn’t mind- I wasn’t ready to start the Order from the ground up, and even now I’m not sure I’m the right person to. But they sent me here, after years, and I- had enough. You and your people, your _culture_ welcomed me, even if it wasn't always easy. Even if none of you really wanted me here. After years, It felt like-

“It felt like coming home. I know I’ve said that before, but it still holds true. You didn’t want my help, but you accepted it anyway, and gave me a home, a purpose.”

Luke’s chest burns with all he wants to admit, but some things are best left unsaid for now, and he doesn’t want to scare Din, or alienate himself. 

“I was sent here to rebuild, and I plan to do that, if you’ll let me stay. Whether that help is only as Luke, or as a Jedi, it doesn’t matter to me, but I won’t hide anymore. Whatever you want to know, Din, I’ll answer.”

“Anything? Even Jedi secrets?”

Luke quirks a brow, nodding his head. “Even Jedi secrets.”

Din hums, leaning forward in his chair and considering his words. Luke stands there patiently, hands twisting together, before Din leans back and tilts his head. “You can stay.”

“In my cell?” Amusement blooms in the air along with Din’s chuckle, and Luke finds himself relaxing with feeling anything certain from Din. 

“In your house.” Luke bows though he knows he doesn’t need to, smiling when a hand brushes under his chin to lift him from the bow. Din’s touch lingers, leather soft against his skin, and he watches as Din’s head cocks to the side suddenly, fingers rasping gently over Luke’s jawline. “I’m not going to go easy, Jedi.”

“Promise?” Din chuckles again, low and warm, and Luke snags his hand to press a kiss to the soft leather over his palm before backing away and turning on his heel. He calls over his shoulder, peeking briefly before he slips out the door. “Decide what I’m to do, _Mand’alor_. I’ll be waiting.” 

Luke hardly notices the walk back to his house, heart flaring and all the emotions of the city’s inhabitants nipping at his heels. He knows that whatever Din and him have is strained, maybe best left in the past, but whether they ever find their way back or never do, Luke wants to help. He wants to see Mandalore flourish, to grow outside the bounds of their city and keep growing until they don't have to worry about water or food or attacks on their supply lines from pirates. Luke knows this isn't just his hope- every person he passes by has that small spark, that hope nestled close to their hearts and protected by layers of durasteel and beskar. Luke is just a conduit for it- someone who can reach out with a trembling hand and steady the very ground around them, if only they asked. 

The sight of his house is a balm over his bruised heart, and he pushes inside, not caring that it's unlocked. He doesn't even care that the house is wrecked, his things thrown everywhere and furniture turned on its head. A few waves of his hands has things back to the way he remembered it, and he moves through the house this way, setting things right.

His room is the worst, clothes strewn on the bed along with everything else. His circlet sits abandoned on the dresser, blue opal winking in the sun drenching the room in warmth. Luke picks it up without a thought, tracing the pattern of stars across the brow and smiling softly. For so long this had been his shield, the smoke and mirrors that had drawn Luke away from his Order and left him only a man. To look at it now, knowing that he didn't need it, shouldn't wear it, left him with a strange sort of sadness. He _liked_ the pattern of stars, the shifting blue of the stones, even if he didn't like _wearing_ it. He stares at it for a few more seconds before tucking it away in its case and leaving it on the dresser. 

Luke makes sure his things are all still here, nothing stolen before he heads to the kitchen. He hoists himself up onto the counter, balancing precariously and reaching up into a small hole in the ceiling. It's from some sort of burrowing creature that Luke wasn't familiar with, but it was the perfect size and Luke curls his fingers, drawing the metal cylinder out and grinning at the way it slaps firmly into his palm. He hops off the counter, brushing dust and grime off of it until the silver metal shines again. The kyber crystal inside hums in greeting and he shivers at the familiar pull, thumb smoothing over the button but stopping just shy of letting the blade flare to life. He doesn't need to burn a hole in the wall, and he doesn't need to destroy his house, now that he assumes it's actually his. 

He's stood in the middle of his living room, debating on whether or not asking Din to spar would be too threatening when his door flies open. Luke doesn't jump, thank the stars, because it's only Grogu on the other side, waddling into the room on tiny legs and crashing into his shin.

"Grogu what are you- your _buir_ is going to kill me if you keep disappearing." Luke scolds him softly, but Grogu is happy and smug and only reaches for Luke to pick him up. Luke sighs heavily, shaking his head and cradling him with one arm.

Grogu settles himself down immediately and reaches out for Luke's lightsaber, brown eyes huge and glittering. _Want_. Grogu’s kind of voice rattles in Luke’s head and he laughs, pulling it back.

"You are _far_ too young to touch this. Does your _buir_ let you touch his saber?"

"If he's been good." Din replies as he ducks into the house, hand resting briefly on his own saber. He gasps at the answer, frowning heavily.

"It isn't a _toy_ , Din, he could-"

"The younger you learn to be wary of weapons, the longer you live." Din murmurs, cutting off Luke's concern with hardly a thought. Din holds his hand out and Luke wavers for a second, unsure of what he wants before he presses the hilt of his saber into Din's waiting palm. "You had this the whole time?"

"Had it since I lost my hand."

"Mh." Din hums, thumb finding the release as the green blade flares to life. It casts all of Din's paint and armor in an odd light, but Luke allows Din to examine the blade, the blazing light and energy that pulses through the air, vibrating in his hands. At least, that's what Luke can feel. When he reaches to touch it, hand sliding over Din’s, the blade flares brighter, hotter, practically humming with the energy that must flow through Luke. It’s powerful enough that he knows Din can feel it, judging by the way his breath cuts off in his throat. 

“But you were asking about while I was here. Yes, I’ve had it all along. It would have been a bit of a giveaway if I’d carried it with me.” 

“Can you use it?”

“Can I-” Luke scoffs, flicking his thumb over the button to retract the blade and taking it from Din’s hand. It clips onto a loop on his belt, a welcome weight after being so long without it. “I saved the galaxy with this saber, Din.”

“Could have been luck.” He’s teasing, Luke knows he is, but Luke plays into it and scoffs again, frowning. 

“Would you like a demonstration?”

“Of the way you handle a blade?” 

“You already know how I handle a blade.” Luke remarks, humming thoughtfully “There was a base you were going to hit, but your scouts couldn’t get any information.”

“They still can’t.” 

“Give me two days.” 

“That’s a mission for an entire squad.” Din protests, but Luke merely places a kiss on Grogu’s little head before passing him to his father. “I’m not sending you out there alone.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

\--

Din tries to argue with him more that night, saying that they can wait for the scouts to get something, but Luke is insistent that this will be a piece of cake. Din refuses to give him a speeder, citing his unwillingness for Luke to go and get himself killed, but Luke knows where the base is and he takes his time, walking through the night to get there. 

It’s crawling with people, storm troopers and generals and droids alike, and Luke is only a little sorry that he has to do this. He doesn’t _enjoy_ taking lives- it’s about as pleasant as a blaster wound or getting his prosthetic attached, but sometimes it’s necessary. He’s only glad that his strikes are quick and relatively instant- there’s no faint oozing of lifeforce trying to find somewhere to go, there are only sudden flares before it’s gone completely. Luke _does_ enjoy using his lightsaber again after so long, and he feels a bit like a kid on life day, bouncing from person to person and throwing their blaster shots wide with a wave of his hand or the blade of his saber. 

The base falls to him within the hour- there are hardly any stormtroopers left to fight him and those who surrendered are in no hurry to fight back. He spends some time trying to figure out what the base was for, but it doesn’t seem to be anything fundamentally important, not like the water plant was, so Luke doesn’t feel bad about using the relay in the building to call into the Spire.

He’s careful to scramble and rescramble the feed a few times, just in case, but he’s bright eyed and breathless when Din and the Armorer appear in the holo. “Luke, where the hell-”

“Could use a transport for the prisoners, at your leisure.”

“Prisoners? _Mand’alor_ , was he sent on a mission we were unaware of?”

Luke can see Din’s jaw tweak even with the helmet on. “He was to lead a covert scouting of the base we’ve been unable to get into.”

“Judging by where he’s calling from, I’ll assume that the mission was successful. How many prisoners?”

“Mm, twenty or so I’d say.” 

“You’re holding them by yourself?”

“Of course.” A flare of green lights Luke’s black robes in streaks, and Luke briefly looks off to the side before looking back. “I’ll wait here for your arrival.”

Luke cuts the call short, and when the transport arrives he's outside with all of them kneeling in the sand. He paces the length of them, watching, but each footstep in the sand makes them flinch and Luke doesn’t even seem to be doing anything. He keeps careful watch as they’re loaded, but once everything seems to be in hand Luke turns back to stare at the base. Din finds him staring, hands rubbing together in a slow circle. 

“You’re a brat.” Din says, and Luke is beginning to think it’s a nickname with how much he uses it. “You could have been hurt.”

“Not a scratch, unfortunately. Though you _could_ check me over if you want.” Luke glances over at him, distinctly feeling Din’s eyeroll, and he smirks, bumping his shoulder against Din’s pauldron. Each smile seems harder and harder to force out. “The Senate sent me on worse alone.”

“I’m not the Senate.”

“True.” Luke agrees, lips pursed. “What is this building for?”

“Nothing.”

“Good.” Luke’s hands come up, fingers splayed wide, and the force writhes around him, growing faster and faster as the building in front of them begins to groan and crackle. The ground underneath them shudders, sand shifting, and Luke hears Din say something right as the building finally crumbles, collapsing in on itself as Luke’s palms slap together with a resounding echo. Luke grins as sparks popple and crack from the electronics scattered throughout the rubble, and he looks toward Din at the same time his exertion catches up with him. His knees go momentarily weak, vision swimming as he sways on his feet and blinks spots out of his eyes. Din grabs his arm immediately, holding his weight, and Luke laughs as the world spins around him.

“Don’t do that.” Din chides, voice tight. 

“Do what?”

“Exhaust yourself.” Luke huffs out something resembling a laugh as he straightens, easing himself out of Din’s grip and standing shakily on his own. 

“I’m not exhausting myself.”

“So you could do that again?” Din demands, and Luke wipes at his nose before glancing at him, blue eyes bright. 

“I could do that all day.” Din snorts at Luke’s ego, but something pleased and proud brushes over Luke for an instant before Din’s emotions close off again. Luke has never met someone so unreadable, and when he reaches out gingerly, force skimming over Din, he sees the man shudder. “Are you doing it on purpose?”

“Doing what?”

“Blocking me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” To Din’s credit, Luke doesn’t think he’s lying. Luke wonders if it’s a distinctly Din thing or if it’s something to do with the beskar that acts as a buffer. “You’re trying to… listen to me?”

“It’s hard to tell how you feel. Sometimes I get faint brushes from you but…”

Luke shrugs, not really knowing how to explain it in a way that won’t make Din uncomfortable. Instead Luke turns to watch the fully loaded transport pull off, leaving him and Din alone with a speeder idling in the sand. Luke glances at the speeder, then at Din, then back at the speeder, a grin growing. 

“Can I drive?” Din snorts but doesn’t say no, letting Luke settle into the driver's seat as he settles beside him. Luke barely gives him time to sit down before taking off like a shot, letting out a wordless cry of joy. He pushes the speeder as fast as he can around dunes and over the distance back toward the city, wind in his hair and hands firm on the wheel. “Din!” 

It’s almost impossible to hear over the wind, but Din makes a noise back, showing he’s listening. 

“Have dinner with me! You have questions, and I want to answer!”

Din’s head turns to look at him without a word, but Luke is unphased, and he reaches out to take Din’s hand, squeezing once and waiting for him to squeeze back. Din does, and Luke presses his lips together to keep from getting anymore sand in his mouth. Their drive back is boring, borderline exhausting, but Luke pilots the speeder like he was born to do so, and he’s almost pouting when they finally get back to the city and he has to get out. 

He doesn't tell Din that he misses flying, or that he misses being able to just race- through space, through the canyons of Tatooine, through the forests of Endor on a stormtroopers land speeder. _Those_ were fun. It seems like such a luxury, to complain about missing doing something purely for the fun of it. It seems selfish, in the grand scheme of all the things Luke could and should be doing instead. So he doesn’t say anything, and leaves Din to go check on Grogu and all his other kingly duties.

Luke goes to the fountain in the square, sitting on the edge and watching the way the kids play. They all hesitate when they see him, and Luke knows they’ve been told to be wary of him, but it isn’t long before they come up to him, holding out stones or toys or anything they can think of with one simple request. Luke smiles at them, happy to please, and takes every single object they bring, hands raised and eyes half lidded in concentration as he sends them soaring in loops and swirls and wild freefalls. 

__

Din watches him in the moments where the blonde man thinks no one sees him. He observes the way that Luke's eyes parse the crowd, lingering on people for a moment, as if hearing them, before his eyes flit away to the next person. Judging. Weighing. Luke claims to be a man. Just a man, sent by the New Republic with the intent to help. To rebuild. But Din doesn't think that the kind of rebuilding Luke is used to doing will be of any help here. He's used to more- to people, in a way that Din could never hope to be, and each small tilt of his head, or smile he flashes to a child who comes to ask about his hand, that's a judgement too. A weighing of his own worth, of his place within their small world, and if he truly deserves to be here. Among people who would rather turn him away.

He watches him now, breathless, as Luke sends the children’s toys and random stones flying through the air with the sole purpose of delighting them. He’s good with kids, whether he seems to know it or not, and Din’s chest aches at the knowledge. He swings wildly between being so angry at Luke that he can’t see and aching for him so fiercely that he can’t breathe. Luke’s betrayal is a fresh, bleeding wound, but Luke is so stupidly sincere- so charged and flushed with his own power and morals that Din doesn’t know how to navigate him. Doesn't know how to navigate the guilt of letting Paz hurt him, of not stopping him. Of not trying harder to get his cell to open when he knew Luke was laying there on the ground, unconscious. He doesn’t know how to tell him that he’s forgiven him for lying, had forgiven him the moment Luke had saved not just him but Paz and the others from certain death, and had still insisted on getting them back home safe despite knowing what was coming. 

Din doesn’t know how to tell him, and he doesn’t know how to show him. He doesn’t know what’s too much and what’s not enough, and instead he’s left floundering, wondering how long the dam between them, as flimsy as it is, will hold. 

\--

Luke senses Din the moment he gets close to the square. He knows Din like he knows Leia, or Han, or anyone he cares enough about to pay attention to. He senses him lingering in the street behind him, but Luke doesn’t turn around, preoccupied with making Yiana and the others laugh. They try to catch the stones out of the air, but Luke buoys the stones up higher and laughs when they boo him, hopping from foot to foot and climbing on each other to get closer. 

One of the younger kids is the first to spot Din behind them, and once one notices they all do. “ _Mand’alor_ , look! The prince is making the stones float, like your son!”

“He is. Did you ask whether he wanted to or not?”

“Of course!” Luke smiles, because they technically did- it was more demanding than asking, but Luke has a weak spot for the kids and he couldn’t say no to so many puppy dog eyes. “Right prince?”

“Just Luke, and yes, of course you asked. Can everyone hold out a hand?” Each child perks up, clustering with small hands outstretched, and Luke floats a rock or toy into each hand, laughing when the kids look delighted at holding something that Luke was just making float. “The _Mand’alor’s_ son is too young to do what I can, so if you want a demonstration, ask me, okay? Don’t push him.”

“Okay!” They agree in unison, Luke grinning and standing up. He smells the food at the same time he notices the bowls in Din’s hands, and he hums, bowing to the kids and waving while they giggle, hurrying away to go home for dinner and show off their new trinkets. Luke can only imagine what their parents are going to do with the stones once they’re asleep. 

“Right on time.” Luke says in way of greeting, Din making a quiet noise in his throat in reply. Luke leads them back to his house, though Din doesn’t need leading at this point, and he flicks the lights on, pausing at the door to wrestle his boots off. Din slips past him into the living room to set the bowls on the coffee table, and Luke shakes the sand from his boots before leaving them at the door and joining Din on the couch. “You’ll have to be patient with my answers- I haven’t eaten anything other than ration bars in over two weeks, so I’m going to savor this.” 

“Hm.” Luke, true to his word is mostly silent as he eats, slumped back into the soft cushions of the couch. It only takes a couple of bites for Luke to jerk to a stop, setting his bowl down and lunging into the other room. He comes back quickly, careening through the living room and leaping clear over the coffee table to land neatly on the couch, spinning on his toes to sink back down. A blindfold sits snug over his eyes, and he reaches out to snag his bowl before Din can even lean forward to help him. There’s a pregnant pause before Luke hears the hiss of Din’s helmet unsealing, and Luke hums happily when Din’s silverware clinks softly against his bowl. 

“So, first question?”

“When I told you not to hold back, the… _jetii_ stuff was what you were talking about?” 

Luke nods. “Fighting while ignoring the force, not using it, is like if I were to tie one of your arms behind your back and then break an ankle. Painful and awkward and not usually worth it.”

“So why do it?”

“Because someone insisted on training me, and- because it seemed better than you hating me.”

Din is silent for a moment after that before Luke reaches out to prod his thigh. Din stiffens under his touch, and he grimaces at the suspicion in his voice. “You’re sure you can’t see?”

“I can use the force to gauge general direction and location of things. I can’t make out faces. Your next question?”

“How did you lose your hand?”

“My father cut it off.” Luke hears Din’s spoon? Fork? Clatter into his bowl before the bowl is abruptly set down, and Luke holds very still as Din gently takes hold of his right forearm, tugging lightly on his glove and slipping it off when Luke nods. He flexes his fingers automatically when the glove is off, synthetic skin tingling faintly, and Din’s fingers brush over the seam where synthetic skin sits flush over the metal connection between arm and hand. “When I fought him the first time, in Cloud City, he cornered me and cut off the hand that held his old lightsaber.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. There are consequences, a balance to everything that we do, and this was mine. I saved my friends that day, saved my sister, and if I had to let him cut my hand off a thousand times I would do it gladly.” Luke can’t eat very well with one hand, but he doesn’t dare pull away with the way that Din’s thumb smoothes along the seam of his arm, idly worrying over the soft skin. “My father was Darth Vader. I probably should have led with that. But he died as Anakin Skywalker, and that doesn't erase all he did but it- means something to me.”

“He’s the one you were talking to?”

“He was very insistent I break out in a show of Jedi strength.”

“Somehow, that doesn't surprise me.” Luke laughs, and Din finally drops his arm, letting Luke slip his glove back on and continue eating. “You said you’d tell me about Jedi secrets.” 

Luke’s lips quirk at the phrase, but he dips his head in a nod, goading him on. “Any in particular?”

“Can you talk to my son? Like Ashoka could?”

“You met Ashoka?” Din makes a noise of confirmation and Luke mulls that over- he knew theoretically that there had to be other Jedi, though she hasn’t called herself that in years. “I can- it’s almost like a commlink between your helmets, only there aren’t really words so much as there are feelings. At least for him, since he’s so young.”

“Does he understand me?”

“He does, but him listening is another question entirely. He loves you, a lot. Every time we’re near each other all I hear is _buir_ over and over again. Sometimes hungry.”

Din laughs at that and Luke craves the sound of it, pure and unaltered by the helmet. It’s low and a little rough and Luke wants to hear it more. "Your sister- you're close?"

"Mhm. We're twins, believe it or not. We were raised separately, me by my uncle and aunt, while she was adopted by the royal family of Alderaan. _She's_ the monarch of the family, not me. I'm just-"

"A magic wielding warrior?"

Luke chokes on his bite of food.

"One," Luke says, wagging a finger. "It isn't magic. And _two_ , thank you."

"If it isn't magic why can't everyone use it?"

"They can, in theory. At least, that's what the book I have says."

"You don't know?" Luke rests his bowl in his lap at that, turning his face away from Din so he can’t see the way his expression pinches as he talks. 

“I only got a crash course in what being a Jedi meant, really. I was- supposed to bring balance back to the force by defeating my father, and the Empire.” Luke traces a finger along the edge of his bowl, lost in thought and trying hard not to change the subject for something easier. “Master Yoda and Master Ben, they did what they could, but Vader killed Ben and Master Yoda was… Old. He’s the same species as Grogu, actually.”

“How long have you been a Jedi?”

“Nine years, if you count when my training began, less if you go by what Master Yoda says. I’m technically still not a master, but there’s no one to challenge the notion. I’m the last one left.”

“There isn’t anyone else?”

“There are people who are force sensitive all over the galaxy, like Grogu and Yiana, but… I’m the only one who knows enough to teach them, and I don’t- I don’t know that I’m enough.

“I know how to fight, to use the Force to destroy, like that base today. But there are _other_ uses for it, uses they never taught me. The Force was used in everything- growing plants, raising cattle, _healing_ people- I can’t show them any of that, and what kind of teacher, what kind of Jedi Master does that make me?” 

“Do you think I know everything?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think I know everything?” Din repeats, and Luke can sense that he’s waiting for an answer, so Luke shakes his head- of course Din doesn't know everything, how could he? He could live a thousand years and still not know everything in the galaxy. “Do you think I deserve to rule Mandalore?”

“Yes.” 

“But I don’t know everything.”

“That doesn’t- no one could. You’re one man.” 

You aren’t?” Luke senses Din’s head tilt, and he laughs, mostly because he doesn't know what else to do but also because he’s so _blunt_. Luke wants to tell him that it’s different, that ruling a planet and leading a group of people isn’t the same but- is it? He wants to say that Din could never understand what it's like to live with this power- but he does, doesn't he? Power is power. “You worry about teaching them.”

“Of course.” Luke whispers, thinking about teaching Grogu or Yiana and failing them, of leaving them as confused as he feels, scrabbling for answers.

“You’ll be a good teacher.” 

“You say that with such confidence.”

“I have faith- I believe.” Luke’s head turns toward him, mouth opening in surprise, but he can’t find anything to say that could possibly tell him how much that means to him, so he lurches forward, bowl of food forgotten as his hand finds the back of Din’s neck, pulling him close as their foreheads bump. 

The feeling of Din’s skin against his own is a shock at first, Luke having forgotten the whole reason he was wearing the blindfold in the first place, but it doesn't matter. Din’s hand comes up to touch his cheek gently, fingers trembling, and Luke presses a bit closer, bumping his nose against Din’s and letting out a slow, shuddering breath. He can feel tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, but the blindfold catches them and the only tell that Luke is doing _anything_ is the way a sob catches in his throat, low and broken. 

Dins’ fingers slip into his hair, leather catching softly on the strands, and Luke remembers himself with such vivid intensity that he jerks back, freezing in Din’s touch. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t ruin this.” Din murmurs, and something mixed between a laugh and a croak spills from Luke’s lips as Din pulls him in and presses their foreheads together again. “There are moments that I can’t stand to look at you.”

“I know.” Luke says, and he does- Din’s anger is about the only thing that he can feel, hot and painful against the base of his skull, but he expects it. He deserves it. 

“You hurt me.” Luke wants to apologize, to crawl out of his own skin and do _something_ to prove he won’t do it ever again, but Din is still talking and Luke hangs on every word. “I can’t- go back to what we were. Yet. But I-”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Luke whispers. Din doesn’t owe him anything, the same way that Luke owes him nothing, but just because he doesn’t owe doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to _give_. He hears Din laugh weakly, and Luke feels a tear splash onto his nose from how close they are. Luke lifts his other hand to brush it away, to cup Din’s cheek and just breathe with him. “I- did something unspeakable in lying to you, Din. Let yourself hurt.” 

“I’ve been taking it out on you for too long, keeping you in that cell. Torturing you that way."

“I deserved it. I still deserve it." Din's grip tightens in his hair, and he can feel him shake his head. Can hear the _no_ that he whispers. He tries to soften Din's thoughts a little. “It might not have been the most comfortable cell, but aside from Paz, I was never hurt.”

“I talked to him about that.” Din says, and Luke tries not to be thrilled by the edge of anger in his voice. "It was wrong. Luke, it was _wrong_."

He knows it was. He _knows_ , and yet-

“I betrayed him as much as I did you. He was right to be angry, to remain angry.”

He finds himself making excuses anyway.

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“There’s a balance between Light, and between Dark.” Luke replies, reaching out to find that his bowl has somehow not spilled bright red food over his couch. The food inside has gone cold by now but Luke doesn’t care- he polishes it off before he chances saying something else. “You asked if I’d ever been a Sith.”

“You said almost.” Din murmurs, Luke nodding.

“I want to tell you how.”

So he does. It takes him a few tries, a few stuttering starts and broken stops, but he tells him. He recounts his attempt at helping on Endor, at letting himself get captured for the sole purpose of getting on the second death star. He tells Din in bits and pieces what it had felt like to be so angry, to be so despondent and alone and _scared_ for himself. For those he loved. He recounts what the Dark had felt like to him, what it had whispered in those quiet, lost moments when Luke had reached for that power and that power had reached back. 

He recalls with cold detachment how the emperor had used force lightning, had set his nerves on fire until he was near seizing with the electricity running through him until his father- not Vader, but his father- had sacrificed himself to save his child, and to return balance to the force. It’s a relief to tell someone what he experienced, what few people outside Leia and Han and Artoo know. It makes him feel both like a fraud and someone deserving of the title of saviour to admit that if it weren’t for his father, for the strength and sacrifice he made, there wouldn’t be balance- that he wasn’t the Chosen One, not in a way that anyone expected. 

Din doesn’t say anything while he talks, he only sits there, occasionally humming or scoffing or snorting in reaction to what Luke’s saying, but it’s enough. Din is there, listening, and Luke knows that he understands- knows that Din can feel the weight of his crown at all times, understands the brevity of what being a leader, or one of a kind can do to someone. It means more to Luke than he thinks he ever thought it could, to have someone let him talk without trying to make him feel better. 

By the time that Luke is talked and cried out the crickets have come out to sing outside his bedroom window, and Luke nearly cries again at that sound alone. It signals Luke that Din has long overstayed, and he stretches, snagging Din’s helmet and brushing his fingers over the hard face of it before holding it out. 

“Go home, Din. Grogu misses you.” 

“Yeah.” Luke doesn’t bother to remove the blindfold even once Din’s helmet is back on, and he presses up into the brief sensation of cold beskar against his forehead before Din pulls away and leaves. Before Din closes the door he pauses, speaking quickly, as if debating telling Luke at all. “Grogu can heal. Sometimes- you learn from your students.” 

Luke’s mind races at the possibilities of being able to see what exactly it entails, but Din is already gone and he won’t get anything tonight. He might not get anything for weeks, and Luke is okay with that- the thought that Grogu is inherently skilled in something Luke isn’t is promising. 

It makes him wonder what all the others in the galaxy can do. What they could do with proper training.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoot me an ask at my tumblr, Purplesauris!


End file.
